


Complicated

by KivaTaliana



Series: Swings And Roundabouts [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Mycroft, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Sherlock, Latent Apha John, M/M, Non-Con General Elements, Omega Greg, Other, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 23:59:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 23
Words: 35,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivaTaliana/pseuds/KivaTaliana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Relationships are never easy.  Greg Lestrade knew that when he was forced into one thing and then another.  The another was Mycroft Holmes who often, it appeared, could be more good than bad.  At least, if nothing else, he was considerate.  What more did Greg need in an alpha?  Was it even possible to work it out?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Kidnap

**Author's Note:**

> It is the case that if I start one train of thought other things come to my brain. This story will be different from Pack Law but it is similar in context even if the emphasis is different. I do hope that makes sense. The chapters do not entirely work in chronological order, so there will be flashbacks which will be tagged.

Slouched in the back of his alpha’s car Greg didn't bother to look up as the vehicle slowed to a halt. They were driving through London, the car was bound to stop and start. He was too tired to pay any attention; the last three months, although not stressful, had been wearing. It was nice to be on his own for a bit, even if he was just being driven back to Mycroft’s house because his alpha had a sudden meeting sprung upon him. Hopefully it would go on a while so Greg could have some time to himself without Mycroft watching his every mood and move. 

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, rather pointlessly as there were no messages or calls, but he skimmed through a few things for something to do until the driver suddenly swore and the car jerked backwards. Greg rocked in the backseat, suddenly looking up to see the van blocking their way. His heart stuttered as he saw the men with guns and as the car backed up another vehicle screeched out from the road behind hemming them in. He fumbled to free himself from the seatbelt, the clip loosened as the driver jerked to a halt again, sending Greg sprawling forward. 

There was no time to even blink as the windscreen of the car shattered. Greg automatically ducked, crouching on the floor. He watched the driver slump back into the seat, blood spattered across the upholstery. Greg pressed against the back of the driver's seat and reached round rummaging in the dead man's jacket, trying to reach his gun. All of Mycroft’s men tended to be armed. Greg fumbled around, trying to pull the gun free. As he yanked, the lifeless body rocked in the seat, but the gun remained securely strapped against the man’s ribcage. He knew he was too late as he saw shadows flitting around the car and the door was yanked open. He felt something cold touch the back of his neck. Greg froze, pulling his hands back and raising them to show he was unarmed. 

"Out."

A hand latched onto his shirt collar and he was dragged out of the car, the man turning and throwing him onto the tarmac. Greg landed on his hands and knees, slowly kneeling back and putting his hands to the back of his head. Three men surrounded him, all dressed in black and wearing balaclavas. Two others lingered either end of the car, guns raised. Several people had stopped to stare but several random shots sent them scattering. 

The hand latched onto his collar again yanking it until it tore to clearly expose the band underneath. Then the hand grabbed his hair yanking his head to the side and leaning in the man sniffed his neck. Greg snarled trying to pull away but a gun barrel rested against his cheek. 

"It's him. UP!" 

Greg faltered a minute, the sudden command taking him by surprise. He couldn’t imagine why the hell they were looking for him. Well, there were some reasons, but he didn't have time to consider the list as the bag was pulled over his head. The darkness seemed to make him concentrate, and focus on the probable cause of the issue. As they dragged him along he went with them, not entirely cooperative but behaving enough that they wouldn’t abort the mission, which would probably leave him shot in the head. 

It had been a week, or eight days in actual fact, when he had heard Mycroft field the phone call. A government concern over two possibly related incidents. One being an aborted kidnap attempt and prior to that the young daughter of a minister being subtly threatened as a stranger tried to take her from the school gates. It had been passed off as a random incident until the politician in question had been sent the carefully taken photographs, a second kidnap plan and the threat of a third. 

Greg felt himself roughly manhandled into the back of a vehicle. Not a car boot, but most definitely not big enough to be a van, probably a jeep or SUV style of car. Not that he could tell much else as a plastic tie secured his wrists and doors slammed the vehicle rocked and then screeched off. He shifted about and tried to steady his breathing. For the time being, there wasn't much else he could do, but it wouldn't be long before his disappearance would be reported. 

They needed him alive and beyond that, it was down to him to ensure he stayed intact. 

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

They changed vehicles several times, dragging him from one to another. The moves were dizzyingly disorientating but it had nothing to do with him. They had to keep Mycroft guessing and Greg knew well enough he was a hard man to fool. What had happened had more than likely taken Mycroft by surprise, and that was an element the kidnappers were playing to their advantage. When they finally reached their destination Greg was exhausted and had no idea how long he had travelled, or how far. They could have just driven around in circles for all he knew. 

He had been wrenched from the final car journey and walked down a short corridor, down a flight of stairs, and round two corners before they stopped. They turned him round, pushed him back and then shoved him down onto his knees. Greg grunted at the pain jolted up from his kneecaps and he squirmed as he felt two of them hold his arms and someone cut the tie on his wrists. They held him still and seconds later he felt the metal of cuffs around his wrist, and they swiftly clicked into place. The arms then released him and then a hand pulled the bag from his head. 

Unsurprisingly the men still had their faces covered. They wouldn't want him knowing who they were. One reached out to grab his hair, lifting his head back while another, holding a water bottle took a firm grip of his chin and forced a mouthful of water into him. Greg coughed, some of the liquid running down his face, but some ran down his throat. It didn't taste particularly pleasant, the water seemed to have a bitter quality to it. They got at least three mouthfuls into him and he slumped down when they released him. 

"Now what?" one of the men asked. 

"Now we get what we want," another said. Greg raised his head slightly, watching them. The man who had spoken turned to him. Greg met his gaze, trying to assess his eyes, wondering if it came to it if he would be able to recognise them again. He didn't think he would be that successful. 

"If your alpha gives us what we want, you'll get back safe and sound."

Greg nodded warily, wincing as his head spun slightly. They had put something in the water. One of the others moved closer, running his fingers along Greg's neck, eyeing him in speculation. Greg inclined away from the touch, he had to put an end to that. 

"If you want me to retain any value I suggest you don't." 

The man's hand moved up to grip his hair. Greg gritted his teeth as the man leant down to sniff him. The man didn't himself didn't smell strong enough to be an alpha, but some of them in the room were. At the moment Greg couldn't completely identify them. It didn't matter, any one of them would think it fine to take advantage of him. He had to base this on how well they knew Mycroft, or how well he knew Mycroft. It was more a bluff than fact, but he wasn't about to allow this lot to get their hands on him, or at least no further than they already had done. They wanted something from Mycroft, but for that they needed an exchange. 

"Really?" another one of them asked. Greg recognised it as the voice that had been giving out orders. The one person who could control the situation. 

"Of course. Do you really think Mycroft Holmes will want me back as damaged goods?" 

That seemed to cause some consternation. The rest of them looked to the leader for an answer. Greg decided to press the advantage. 

"Any hint of that and I will be worthless."

"Not completely," the grip on his hair slackened and his tormentor went back to stroking his neck. 

"You really think so?" Greg asked. "Considering I have just come through a heat." 

That gave them something else to think about. There was no guarantee that his heat had come to anything, although Mycroft had certainly put an uncommon amount of effort into it. But the hint was clear enough, he could be carrying. It would be impossible to know now, but they would not want to risk causing a problem. 

The unspoken thoughts hung in the air. He was an omega, and therefore it could be assumed he would be used to breed from. It would not be a stretch of the imagination to think that Mycroft would not want him back if they took advantage. Greg wasn't entirely sure of that point himself, but it was the only bluff he had to play. His vision swam slightly as whatever was in the water worked deeper into his system. It didn't seem like he had taken in a lot, and it was probably best to keep it that way, he slumped a little further, blinking slowly, to try and give the illusion of being drugged. Again if they thought he might be pregnant then logically they would want to limit the amount they gave him. 

Best if he looked weak now and it stayed that way. Then he would have to think of a plan. 

There was no damn way he was going to sit here helpless and wait for that smug bastard Mycroft Holmes to come to the rescue.


	2. The Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three months prior to the kidnapping Gregory Lestrade meets Mycroft Holmes.

Three Months Previously...

At the current moment in time the argument that an alpha made him do it seemed akin with the dog eating his homework. Gregory Lestrade sat in the police interview room, his hands cuffed, while he awaited his fate. A few years ago he might have been on the other side of the table, an omega officer called in to try and council him into making the right decision. He wasn't entirely sure there was a right decision in this case. 

Looking down at the table he even recognised some of the graffiti written on it, and etched into the top. He had been in this interrogation room, as a policeman, and now he was in it for a different reason. That was just as bad as having Anderson taking his DNA and Donovan asking him questions. He had worked with both of them and now... now he was stuck in a situation he could hardly believe. 

The door latch clicked and it opened, revealing a man whom he had seen during the arrest and current investigation but Greg was not entirely sure who he was. He seemed to linger on the sidelines watching intently but not intervening. 

Greg watched him warily as he sat down in the chair opposite, leaning back slightly as the man appraised him. The scent came to him clear enough, the man was an alpha. The stranger gave something of a congenial smile, which didn’t reach his eyes. Greg looked away and waited. The man lifted his briefcase onto the table and flipped the catches. He opened it up and pulled out a slim brown file. For a moment Greg wondered…

“I’m not a solicitor,” the man said smoothly. “You may not need one.” 

“Really?” 

The man opened the file. “Gregory Lestrade, omega, tested for breeding on reaching maturity, although not as yet bred from. Despite your age there is no particular reason why you couldn’t.” 

“I’m not that old.” 

“Mid-thirties,” the man said smoothly. “It’s a little older than most starting brood omegas, but in this day and age there is no reason why you cannot start now, should you wish."

Greg didn't know if he wished or not. But there was something of a hint in the man’s words. His alpha, his wife, had never wanted him to, then as she got bored of him, found someone else, without the complications of any caste, just a human, she let him drift. The unfortunate consequence of that was when her boyfriend found out Greg could be worth exploiting. It might be why he had seduced Greg's wife in the first place. Whatever had occurred, he had ended up in a situation where he could be used, and it had got him so far onto the wrong side of the law that he didn't think he could pull back from it. 

The man watched him expectantly. Greg wondered what he could possibly say. In the presence of an alpha it was sometimes best to say nothing. After a long enough pause the alpha started talking again. 

"Of course there would be conditions if you were released. You would be kept under house arrest but in an omega centre.” 

Another paused landed, where Greg said nothing. 

“As opposed to being remanded in custody, which is unpleasant enough at the best of times for omegas, never mind an omega who is a former police officer.” 

Greg’s jaw clenched. 

“I know all that.” 

The man raised his eyebrows, eyes moving up and down again. Greg clenched his jaw and riled at the gaze which offered him a choice which wasn’t much of a choice. The man seemed to realise Greg’s awareness of the situation, he produced a form and a printed sheet of paper. 

“You are also aware of the conditions of a stay at the centre. However, in your case they have been slightly amended. Do read them, and check the registration form has the correct details. Oh… and you will need to sign your statement.” 

The man produced a final sheet of paper which he put in front of Greg and then he carefully pulled a pen from the top pocket of his jacket, pulled the lid off and laid it above the three sheets of paper. Greg didn't look at any of that for a moment. Instead he stared at the man in front of him. He waited, a slight smile on his face and an air of confidence that irked Greg. 

"And what if I don't take it?" 

"Then you will be remanded in custody pending trial, although I doubt you would make it that far. Part of your statement has been amended, and certain aspects of the case will not go to the CPS. You will be given a conditional caution, but the willingness to secure yourself in the omega centre will make that simple enough."

"And what do you get from this?" Greg asked. "Who the hell are you anyway?"

"A concerned party," the stranger said smoothly. "There are certain parts of the case that my... employers... wish to deal with themselves. The simplest option where you are concerned is to take you out of the equation. That could have been done another way, but being just another omega, in a centre, is quite easily the best way to hide you. Casually getting rid of an omega is the last resort."

"Hidden in plain sight?" Greg asked sardonically.

The man smiled smoothly, although his gaze was not on Greg, it had turned to the papers in front of him. 

"If you wish." 

Greg shifted uncomfortably. "What about Lia?" 

The man looked up from the papers. His expression was far from comforting but he appeared to wear something that seemed appropriate for the occasion. 

"I'm afraid there was nothing they could do for her, when they found her."

Greg lowered his head. She had only been eighteen years old and he had taken the flack to protect her. 

"Do you really think your attempted sacrifice was likely to do any good?"

Greg's head jerked up in shock and he almost rose from the chair. The alpha sat back, looking at him steadily. Despite the rise in Greg's aggression the alpha didn't move, looking utterly secure where he sat. But it had clearly alerted the officers waiting outside. The door opened and Donovan stepped through eyeing him cautiously, but her gaze, when it turned to the other man seemed openly hostile. 

She hadn't come in to protect him, she had seen Greg's reaction and had wanted to ensure he was all right. Greg slowly settled back down in the chair. 

"Are you all right?" 

"Yes, Sally, thank you." 

The alpha merely raised his eyebrows assessing her in interest. She stayed by the door, but made her intention to stay in the room clear. Greg scanned the papers in front of him, reading parts and ignoring others, most of it seemed meaningless considering the situation he was facing, but he did note the omissions from his statement, the information he had given which this man did not want others to know. Greg looked up and assessed him again. Given what he was reading the alpha had to know what the reaction was for. However, he did nothing more than continue to watch Greg steadily, unperturbed by the emotions in the room. 

"It is your choice," the alpha said. He tilted his hand to look at his watch pointedly. "In three minutes, a little less, the paperwork will be changed." 

Greg exhaled heavily, what choice did he have. He lifted his hand to take the pen and then paused. His hands were cuffed together. Donovan looked away, and the alpha continued to stare steadily. Gritting his teeth he reached for the pen, trying to coordinate his tethered hands so he could sign the papers. 

The alpha reached out to keep the papers still if they shifted and Greg put his signature where it was required. As he gathered them up, reclaiming his pen he turned to Donovan and said. 

"The appropriate authorities will be along to pick him up so store in somewhere safe until then." 

The man clicked his briefcase closed and stood up. He looked down at Greg and then turned to Donovan. 

"He's hardly a danger, you can probably take the handcuffs off."


	3. The Investigation

"This will be a six at the most," Sherlock said his eyes running over the scene and missing nothing. John trailed in his wake, giving up on trying to see all the things that Sherlock might, instead he just looked at what he could and...

"Isn't that Mycroft's car?" 

John had gone stock still, staring at the vehicle in question. He had been in it enough times, when Mycroft felt the urge to impart information, or just try and order him about. The black car sat in the middle of the road, slightly at an angle, and with the doors still open. Anderson busied himself taking fingerprints from the door in the hope that he could pick up something that was not related to the current car users.

"Don't be ridiculous John, he's been pulled in for a meeting about the Korean... " 

Sherlock stopped talking and his eyes snapped around. He assessed the car again. John went round to the driver's side, looking at the shattered windscreen and the blood splattered across the car's upholstery. 

"You don't need to see the body to know the cause of death," Anderson said to John. "It's already on the way to Bart's. Molly's on duty so no doubt the Freak can get you in to see the show." 

John gritted his teeth, moving a little closer to him. The man looked slightly surprised but merely shrugged and returned to what he was doing. Sherlock walked around the car again, peering at the damage. 

"What do you think?" John asked him. 

"He was shot in the head, through the windscreen, clearly he didn't have time to pull his gun but..." Sherlock paused, stepped lightly around Anderson and stared into the back of the car, almost clambering in as he examined the interior. 

"Someone else tried to. Whoever was in the back of the car," Sherlock said. "The floor mats are rumpled and the seat looks to have been pushed on this side, as if someone leant against it, applying pressure." 

"How often are drivers armed?" John asked. Sherlock dialled his phone as John spoke, turning away but giving John a significant glance. 

"Like you asked, who's in the car? Mycroft, where are you?" There was a pause. "Who have you given your car and driver to?" 

Sherlock frowned, his eyes distancing before snapping back to attention, to the back of the car. 

"Did he get the gun? Was it taken from the driver?" 

Anderson looked startled by the sudden demanding questions. Donovan eased up close to him and glared at Sherlock. 

"No. It was still on the body." 

Sherlock peered into the car, looked around again. 

"If your omega was in the car then he has been taken. They blocked in the vehicle and shot the driver in the head before he could even react. It would appear that your omega tried to get the gun, but there is also no evidence he put up a fight. However, considering the two vehicles and the fact this seemed well timed, there is nothing he could have done but submit. How many people knew you were called into an extra meeting?" 

Sherlock blinked, spun on his heel and started to walk away. 

"Well, that is hardly an answer. Given the previous information on these threats you can assume this is the work of the same people. Since you only occupy a minor position in the government," Sherlock snapped with a clear level of sarcasm. "What could they possibly want from you?" 

Sherlock turned, looking confused, he glared at John, in a clear hint he didn't understand what Mycroft had just said. 

"How can it not be relevant? It is the most logical way to retrieve him."

John glowered at the tone of voice that Sherlock used, regarding Greg. He got the feeling that Sherlock didn't like his brother's recent desire to fulfil his obligation to breed, that or he didn't like who it had focused on, and how. Sometimes he was hard to tell what part of a situation annoyed Sherlock and why. 

"Exactly how can that be achieved so quickly?" 

Sherlock listened and nodded. "We'll take a taxi." Tilting his arm Sherlock looked at his watch. "Within half an hour." 

He hung up on Mycroft and stalked away from the scene. 

"John!" Sherlock yelled without looking around, clearly aware he wasn't following. John glanced from the officers to Sherlock and back again. They were staring at the retreating man looking as equally confused. John in the end jogged to catch up with him. 

"What's going on?" 

"It appears taking my brother's omega was not the best of ideas. He can be located quite easily."

"How?" John asked while Sherlock waved his arm to flag down a cab. Sherlock had the door open before the vehicle even had a chance to stop. 

"He's been micro-chipped." 

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"You did what?!" John yelled at Mycroft. Mycroft looked undisturbed by the anger. Despite the fact that as an alpha Mycroft could take serious issue with it John didn't see anything wrong with yelling at either of the Holmes men when he felt it was required. Sherlock said nothing. 

"It seemed an obvious thing to do. He was also a flight risk." 

"No he's wasn't," John contradicted rudely. "Does he know you did it?" 

As an obvious expression flickered across Mycroft's face John snorted in irritation and turned away. Sherlock watched him intently before snapping his attention back to Mycroft. Before he could speak John whirled round again. 

"He's not a dog, you know!" 

Mycroft looked unperturbed by the analogy.

"No, he's an omega," Sherlock said calmly. John glared at him. Sherlock looked equally unperturbed by the expression and instead turned back to Mycroft. 

"Were you aware that such an attempt might be made?" he asked his brother. "That would be the only reason for you to do so, or to even acquire the omega in the first place." 

John's face creased into a deeper frown, looking at Mycroft disapprovingly. 

"Naturally it could always be a concern, and no; breeding was the reason to acquire him."

John glowered further. Mycroft turned to meet the gaze. 

"Soon enough the urge hits all alphas who are aware of their responsibility."

"I am aware of that fact," John snapped at him. 

Mycroft raised his eyebrows and turned back to Sherlock. John paced and fumed and generally ended up ignored by both of them as the two brothers glared at each other. 

"The point being, he is easily locatable, the kidnappers have not as yet initiated contact and I have no intention of waiting for them. As soon as the team has assembled they will track the signal and retrieve him."

"And if the kidnappers hurt him before that happens?" Sherlock asked. 

"Unlikely; he has no value unless he remains intact. Not only do they know that, Gregory himself understands that fact. I'm fairly confident he can exercise enough intelligence to convey that."

"And if he can't?" 

John paused pacing at the question Sherlock posed, glaring at Mycroft for an answer. In the end Mycroft didn't give one as his phone rang. He answered it and listened for a moment. 

"Very well."

He ended the call and stared at them both.

"They're ready."

"They can wait," John said. 

"For what?" Sherlock asked. John glowered at him, having listened to the conversation he had made one clear decision. 

"Me. They can wait for me."


	4. The Escape

He had waited until they had left him until he examined, as best he could, the cuffs and chains holding him. With his hands behind his back he relied on touch, but it seemed clear enough that the cuffs were police issue. The chain seemed to be looped around the cuffs and the length ran to the pipe behind him, locked with a heavy duty padlock. He tested the strength of the chains, lock and pipe but realised quite quickly that he wasn't getting free, not without the keys, or someone to help him. 

On the other hand Greg didn't think Mycroft would abandon him, not while there was the possibility he was carrying, and even if that wasn't the case he didn't think Mycroft would cut his losses so easily. Greg was damn glad the bluff had worked but to try and get himself free he would have to play his advantages. 

Sooner than he thought, he could hear muffled sounds of movement from beyond the room and what sounded like a car starting. A few minutes later he heard footsteps outside the door. He held his breath as they shuffled against the concrete floor as if debating entering the room. He heard the key turn in the lock and the door swung open. Greg shuffled backwards as one of the alphas came into the room. The man had covered his face again, but Greg saw the twisted smirk and glittering eyes, which caused his stomach to churn a little. 

Greg swallowed heavily, easing himself further back, widening his eyes to look nervous and unsettled as a good omega should when faced with a more dominant person. 

It was not something Greg was very good at. He knew other omegas who could, who did, behave in such a way but Greg had wanted his independence. It had worked for a while but people had preconceptions of them, even within their own genetic pool. Alphas and betas wanted to assert themselves over the lesser castes, as was their nature. 

Mycroft, however, never seemed to behave to that stereotype, Greg now decided. He knew Greg had been over a barrel, but the terms of the contract had been to his liking, even to the point that he hadn't even needed to be intimate with him. And he hadn't blamed Mycroft for the turn of events that had put him into this mess, although he seemed to have taken advantage of it. He had contracted Greg for the purpose of breeding, how that occurred seemed immaterial. 

"Water?" the man asked. Greg tried to look nervous as he approached holding a water bottle, his fingers running around the cap as he assessed Greg to see how compliant he would be. 

"Yes please." 

He needed the man close if he was to take advantage of the situation. Watching as the man opened the bottle Greg waited, he dribbled some water on the floor, eyeing Greg as he did so. 

"Please?" Greg asked with his best helpless expression. It didn't appear to be entirely successful as the kidnapper's eyes narrowed, looking slightly amused as he stared down at Greg. 

"And what do I get in return?" 

To ask what the man wanted was a stupid question and even if he asked Greg couldn't pull of the coquettish expression required. He was a little too old for that. 

"You can't fuck me, too complicated and the evidence will be there." 

The man smirked and stepped closer running his thumb over Greg's lips. 

"On the other hand, you could swallow it." 

"Or I could handle it, but that's a bit difficult," Greg said shrugging his shoulders to indicate his bound hands. The man’s grin widened, and his hand retracted, brushing lightly over his jeans pocket in an unconscious gesture. Greg noted the small bulge, in the pocket, and took an educated guess that those were the keys. If he couldn’t get the man to free him then he needed to acquire the keys himself. Looking up Greg watched the hungry expression in the man’s eyes, he was another one who believed that all omegas ever thought about was sex. Greg loathed that preconception and he felt the anger rising. 

Waiting until the kidnapper was distracted, opening the flies on his jeans, Greg took his chance. Shifting position he kicked out, catching the man on his knee. There was a sickening crack and the man gave a yelp of shock. He started to fall and with quick reflexes Greg used his shoulder to push him forward, sending him crashing into the wall, as he fell the man cracked his head against the metal radiator. Greg winced at the sickening thud, and then the following snap as the man’s head jerked back. He slumped to the ground unmoving. 

Greg breathed steadily, listening for the sound of anyone else responding to the sounds. The air remained quiet, the body unmoving, the man’s eyes staring unseeingly into the distance. Shuffling forward Greg turned, fumbling for the pocket where he guessed the keys were. He hoped he was right, the entire plan hinged on it. As he struggled to find the pocket peering over his shoulder as he tried to see what he was doing he felt the hard lump, identifying a small set of keys. He fumbled to find the way into the pocket and in the end he had to give up on trying to look, it was too painful to twist his body round and try and see. Taking a deep breath he concentrated on what he was feeling, easing his fingertips around the stitched edge of the pocket, feeling the curve in the material. Working his way under he dipped his fingers in touching the solid metal, getting hold and drawing them out. 

He could feel himself trembling and he forced himself to stay as close to the still body as he could using it as a safety net so he wouldn't drop the keys as he struggled to find the right one and then he had to manipulate it into position. His eyes filled as frustration got the better of him, he lost his hold on the keys and he had to scrabble against the body to find them again. He felt the metal, now warm from having been handled, and picked it up again. 

Either it was luck, or the breath he slowly released gave him enough calm for the key to hit the slot. It went in and he managed to turn it. The metal dug into his wrist as he pulled, hearing the grating sound as they opened. He had one hand free, lost the keys again but could now easily pick them up and unlock the other cuff. He dropped them onto the body and stood up. Then he crouched again to grab the man's gun, he would probably need that, there were the others to consider. 

Greg picked up the keys again and walked to the door cautiously opening it a crack and peering out. The corridor ran along the building, windows ran along the left wall, high up, letting in the sunlight, illuminating the corridor. Dust drifted in the air and a bluebottle rapidly threw itself against the nearest window, looking for a way out. Greg eased his way out, pulling the door shut behind him, and looking to see if there was anyway he could use the windows. They were long, rather than tall, and too high up for him to even attempt to reach. 

Ruling them out he stepped down the corridor, the gun feeling heavy in his sweat damp palm. On the right wall were three doors. The first one refused to open and Greg didn't waste time trying to batter it down, it would make too much noise, and could end up being a pointless exercise. 

The next one obliged, easing open with a creak. Greg went still and waited, holding his breath slightly, but there were no other sounds, so he eased through the door and looked around. Again he realised the windows were no use to him. They were the same as the ones in the corridor, however, he did also see an old chair and desk against the far wall so at least he could peer out and see something. He wasn't quite sure what, and the view was not entirely illuminating. All he saw was a flat concrete yard, the cracks interspersed with weeds, nettles, thistles and docks struggled for supremacy. The sight merely indicated that the area was abandoned. Opening the window Greg listened carefully, picking up the sound of cars, moving at speed, in large numbers. So he was at least close to a road, if he got out he could somehow get help. 

That was the next important step. He clambered down and left the room, the third door opened to reveal a similar room and nothing else. Greg carried on down the corridor and turned the corner. There he found a set of stairs. He had to go up, he was in the basement, and on the ground floor he would hopefully find an exit. He crept upwards, pressing his back against the wall and tightening his grip on the gun. The stairs were broken up by a small half landing before heading up towards a thick wooden door with peeling blue paint. 

Greg shouldered it open, peering into the next corridor, slightly gloomier than the previous one, the windows boarded up, the wood screwed in firmly. He gave it an experimental push, but the wood looked new, and had been recently put up. Again, he needed to work quickly, so he headed further on, slamming to a halt at the sudden sound of shouting, crashing and a shot. He took several steps back and then steeled himself to go forward. The door at the end had a serviceable enough window that he could use. There was smoke and flickering shadows, some of whom were armed police. Greg blinked, unsure if he was actually seeing what appeared to be a very quick rescue, or if something more sinister was occurring.

Then again, this was Mycroft Holmes that Greg was dealing with, someone who had already been aware of the situation of government officials being targeted for leverage. Greg clenched his jaw, and eased the door open slightly. His section of the room lay in shadow, so he could listen for a moment. The last thing he wanted to do was startle anyone and accidentally get shot. 

At the last moment he decided his best plan would be to back up, put the gun down and sit harmlessly in the corridor beyond. They would systematically search the building and find him. However, he paused as a familiar voice announced itself from the cluster of armed police. 

“We need to locate Greg, as far as I can tell he’s in the basement. I’ll head down.” 

He felt surprised to hear John Watson’s voice, although not surprised at the same time. When John had found out the circumstances of Mycroft’s acquisition of Greg he seemed thoroughly disapproving of the elder Holmes. Sherlock didn’t give anything away when he had encountered Greg in the police station, although Sherlock generally disapproved of anything Mycroft did on principle. And vice versa.

But the one thing John's presence told Greg was that Mycroft had been the one to instigate the find. Greg's eyes widened as he saw a shadow move behind John. The reaction was instinctive as Greg saw the danger, forgetting that John's torso was well padded up in a protective vest. Someone was still about to aim a gun at him and shoot. It would be a suicide move, the other armed men would gun him down in seconds, which probably was not a good idea. 

As Greg's mind processed all the information his mind flickered with scenarios, he couldn't allow John to be shot, there was still a chance of a lucky hit, and if all the suspects died then they couldn't trace the source of the threat which Greg knew they hadn't so far. And quite frankly he felt pent up enough to want to shoot someone. He shouldered the door open further and fired, aiming at the man's shoulder to spin him off balance before he could even aim. 

The sound of the gunshot ricocheted around the room and the man fell to the floor. Greg was aware of several armed men suddenly turning on him and he dropped the gun putting his hands into the air, backing away. As several of them advanced he went down on his knees putting his hands to the back of his head. From somewhere he vaguely heard the words. 

"Stand down!" 

They were repeated several times as Greg lowered his head, giving off as best a submissive vibe as he could. He could smell at least two alphas in proximity. Someone reached down to grab the gun and he felt a hand clamp down on the back of his neck. The world seemed to tilt sideways as he heard a voice announce. 

"He's the omega, get the hell off of him now!" 

Then Greg realised, the world wasn't tilting, he was. 

"Greg?" A concerned voice announced and without meaning to he sagged forward into the solid body that broke his fall.


	5. The Viewing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time winds back again three months as Greg takes the condition to move into the omega house and one certain alpha starts to take an interest in him.

Three months previously....

The terms of his house arrest meant he did not interact with the other omegas. He heard them occasionally, even glimpsed them but for the moment he was utterly isolated, apart from the staff and they could often be too busy to speak to him. 

Still, he could read, and walk about areas of the facility as long as he was accompanied, and he supposed he couldn't complain much. It might have even been that no alpha would bother to even look at him. Until late night, the fifth day he had been incarcerated, and the fifth day he had been prodded and poked by the doctor. There wasn't much more to find, he thought to himself. He looked up as the door opened. 

"Come on." 

"For what?" Greg looked at the clock on the bedside cabinet. 

"An alpha wants you, for a private viewing." 

Greg blinked in surprise. Normally he would have to wait until an open day, when several alphas would turn up and view prospective omegas. He hadn't been looking forward to that day, when he would be in the same room as the others at the facility. Many of them wanted to be there, being paired up meant a greater level of freedom. He knew that well enough, his first alpha had let him join the police force, which was what he had wanted to do since he had been a child. Private viewings were an entirely different thing, the person in question were considered compatible enough to be worthwhile making the effort for, that or they had enough influence or money to be able to speed up the process of choosing an omega. 

"Come on then!" 

Greg huffed, he knew he could refuse, or he could try, but considering the other guard lingering in the corridor he got the feeling he was going whether he liked it or not. It was kind of the case for him, with a criminal record and a blotted copybook. Only his potential to bear children had kept him from prison. He put his book down and stood up to follow the guard, the other fell in behind him. 

The only point he faltered was on the threshold of the room. Whoever wanted to see him was so important that the manager of the facility was in attendance, an alpha who had made his contempt for Greg very clear.  
However, with the guard at his back he was easily herded into the room. 

"Please strip," the manager said not even bothering to look at him. Greg clenched his jaw. It was not an abnormal request but in this case, with three of them lingering in the room, it had a greater power to intimidate. 

Again he felt left with very little choice, so he did as he was told, folding the material carefully then standing where he was meant to and he lowered his head focusing on the spot just in front of his feet, submissive but not inattentive. Seconds later another set of footsteps entered the room. The eager manager stepped forward. 

"Mr Holmes. He is one of our older specimens but..."

"Yes, I have read the paperwork," the curt, clipped voice cut off the sales pitch. Greg's head jerked up in shock at the voice and he met a pair of familiar eyes. Mycroft bloody Holmes! his mind announced. Greg wondered if he had come to check up on him, but considering the way the man looked him up and down Greg thought otherwise. 

"I'll have him kneeling."

Greg stayed still for a moment, too stunned to react, and half debating when he eventually rose from his stupor trying to jump forward and throttle Mycroft. The guards, however, did not take the delay well. Greg gave a yelp as he received a kick to the back of his right knee and one of the guards shoved him down into position. He struggled and tried to free himself as the man clamped a hand down on the back of his neck, grabbing one arm and twisting it behind his back. 

"I'm quite certain he could have managed that in his own time," Mycroft all but snarled. Greg lifted his eyes up but Mycroft's gaze; a cold unfriendly expression, was not fixed on him, but the man who had forced him down. Mycroft hadn't moved, but unfriendly vibes came off him, filling the room. After a pause he took a step forward, the look on his face giving his intention away. Before it could fulfil it's promise the guard released him, backing several steps away. Mycroft's gaze lingered on him for a moment as he walked around Greg. Greg's gaze followed him for a while until Mycroft's hands turned his head back and then dropped lower. He felt fingertips running over the scars on his upper back. 

"These are old," Mycroft observed, his gaze, Greg presumed correctly, lay on the facility manager, who jumped to attention at the comment. 

"Yes, there were some issues when he was young, his records state, but he fell in very easily. I don't believe his first alpha had any serious discipline issues. Nothing has been officially recorded." 

Greg's mind casually calculated, it was over fifteen years ago, possibly twenty since he had last been seriously disciplined. As a young omega he had put up as much fight as he could, then it seemed pointless, then his first alpha had kept him for so long, before all the trouble started and by then he had become adept at avoiding discipline issues. 

Considering where he had ended up that was all a bit depressing. He closed his eyes as he heard the snap of latex. 

"The records say he's never been bred?" 

Greg's eyes opened. Mycroft had to have known that. The police would have had any records about him to hand. He tried to keep his expression under control. 

"It appears the previous owner, a woman, never attempted it. It was not her interest," the manager said. 

"He was never even used as a brood?" 

"It would appear not. The medical information says as much but all examinations seem to indicate that he is capable." 

There was a huff and then a gloved hand touched the back of his neck. 

"Down." 

Greg went on all fours, eyes narrowing as fingers probed around the cleft of his buttocks, gentle but insistent. He tried not to tense, even spreading his legs a few inches, but not too much, in a hint he wouldn't fight the examination. Fingers probed into him, knowing where they were going but Greg kept his reactions to a minimum, until the hand slid between his legs to his genitals and he hardened. 

"He's very tight." 

"His long term owner was a woman, I don't believe she was interested in that." 

"And after that the records appear to be sealed." 

Greg's eyes narrowed. With his head down he allowed himself to clench his jaw, he had to so he wouldn't ask Mycroft Holmes what the hell he was playing at.

"There were some criminal issues. Although the omega himself was not entirely responsible some culpability remains. The documents will be released if a serious bid is in consideration but for data protection purposes it will be withheld until that point." 

Mycroft made no answer to that but Greg felt fingers probing him, pressing again against the tight ring of his anal muscles, pushing him open. He tried not to tense, but he was out of practice. Mycroft's hand pressed into the small of his back, as he clearly felt the sudden tension. Greg made a conscious effort to relax and shifted his legs further apart to make it a little easier. His breath hitched slightly as the fingers probed inside him. The exploration was thorough, but gentle. 

He exhaled a breath he didn’t realise he was holding as the fingers withdrew. The hand on his back moved to his shoulder, guiding him upwards. Again Mycroft's well cut suit flickered in the corner of his eye. 

“He’s in good condition,” the manager announced, clearly unable to keep quiet. 

“Yes,” Mycroft mused walking around him carefully. Greg glanced up, glaring and meeting a pair of cool eyes. Mycroft's face gave nothing away, regarding Greg in a clinical fashion. As he stepped behind him he gave another curt order. 

“Stand up.” 

Again, although the guards stepped forward Greg got up on his own. As Mycroft walked a circuit around him Greg glared when he could. Annoyingly Mycroft met his gaze and gave no reaction. 

"How often do you heat?" 

"The records say..." 

"I didn't ask for statistics, I asked him," Mycroft snapped at the manager. Greg tried not to jump, and he looked up in surprise. He met the gaze as he was regarded expectantly. 

"Four months, approximately." 

"You don't sound sure." 

Greg closed his eyes at the challenging tone of voice. Honesty was probably the best policy. 

"I don't really keep track of it anymore. I did have one in March and before that December." 

The alphas had not been happy at the ruined week, when they had a large shipment to move, as he laid up in bed with heat. Greg flinched inwardly, he never wanted to think about that again. Except the fact the timings would make it three months, they were getting closer, he had never been bred and his body wanted it. 

"So they are regular." It was not so much asked as stated. 

"Yes Sir." 

Mycroft turned to look at the manager. 

"I'd rather not waste time returning. I'll take him now. My contract is ready." 

The manager nodded eagerly. Greg clenched his jaw again and decided to hurl a spanner into the works. 

"And what if I don't like it." 

The guards tensed, the manager looked furious, Mycroft looked... actually, Greg felt convinced that Mycroft looked almost amused. 

"I believe the terms will be to your satisfaction."

Annoyingly, to some people, Greg insisted on studying the whole document. 

Annoyingly, Mycroft proved himself right.


	6. The Hospital

Greg could hardly move as he woke and he jerked on the bed. It took so much effort to open his eyes, and when he did the ceiling didn't look worth it. Basic beige with subtle strip lighting which gave a hint as to the location. Neat room, IV drip and alert buttons. Greg was in hospital, a nice clean one, no doubt private – Mycroft would make sure of that - but like all hospitals the soft furnishings fell short in the face of practicality. 

He moved his arms a little, careful not to pull the drip and he eased himself upwards. And just then a young, pretty looking nurse walked into his room. She stopped at the sight of him, her almond eyes staring at him in shock. 

"Oh, you're awake." 

"Yes," Greg said, sitting up further. She rushed forward to shift the pillows for him, helping him to settle. 

"That's good, they've been waiting for you, I'll call your doctor." 

"Thank you," Greg said. She tucked his blanket down, checked his drip and smiled at him before she left. There was no point Greg asking anything of her, she wouldn't be able to tell him anything. He looked around the room again, at the plain tasteful furnishings and his hand ran over the soft fabric of the covers and he gave himself a quick check. Everything seemed intact, in fact, he hadn’t received any serious injuries that he knew of. His hand went to the side of his head, flinching at the slight bump he had gotten during one of the car transfers. He had slipped on a loose stone and banged his head against part of the car. 

Apart from that, he could only say he was a little bruised and had been rattled when he had shot that man and the armed unit had converged on him. After that he could only suppose that he had fainted, which was more embarrassing than life threatening.

He paused that debate as Mycroft appeared in the doorway and walked into the room. 

"Unless you've suddenly had a change of career I hope you're not my doctor." 

"I have a good understanding of physical medicine but no, it merely seemed responsible to stay close by."

Greg blinked and looked at Mycroft, he looked tired, and although he generally seemed as neat as usual his shirt had some extra creases and it was the one he had been wearing when they had parted that day, when Mycroft had put him in the car and sent him home. Greg glanced at the window, then the clock. It had to be at least a day later, therefore, Mycroft had not changed his clothes, and usually he never wore the same thing two days running. 

"You've been unconscious for sixteen hours. It's assumed to be partly shock and you did have some tranquilliser in your blood."

There was, Greg noted, that subtle trace of approval in Mycroft's voice. No doubt he had noticed Greg noticing the clothing, the time and the all the facts that most people would miss. He supposed it was logical he would pick up some things, spending so much time with Sherlock and then Mycroft. 

"You're awake," John said as he strode in. 

"Yes," Greg said. 

"The nurse informed you of this fact, why do you feel the need to repeat it to people already knowing of said fact." 

John glared at Mycroft, and didn't glare at him just because he was being facetious. Although most people's facetious was Mycroft's normal behaviour. Greg looked from one to the other realising, immediately, there was something else going on. 

"Thanks by the way," Greg said to John to break up the growing disapproval in the room. 

"For what?" John asked jamming his stethoscope in his ears. 

"You were there, with the armed unit."

"Thanks for shooting that guy," John replied. "Breath in."

Greg obliged, and then exhaled. "He's alive isn't he?" 

"Yes, he's been taking for questioning," Mycroft said, smoothly and threateningly. 

"Good, that's why I shot him," Greg told his alpha, who raised his eyebrows. 

"And how does trying to kill someone help in questioning them." 

"If he had fired on John the rest of the squad could have gunned him down, and you can't interrogate a corpse. It has to be the same group who have been intimidating others, and trying to gain leverage, therefore, you needed one alive."

Mycroft said nothing, but Greg gained some satisfaction from the expression on his face. 

"Were there any others arrested?" Greg asked while John prodded and poked him. "I do feel fine you know," he added. 

"You passed out," John said. 

"Yes," Mycroft said. "Although we did have the slight element of surprise." 

John paused from examining Greg's head and glared at Mycroft again. 

"You found me quickly. I presume you had a lead on them." 

He looked from one to the other as he felt the tension rise in the room. Mycroft looked steadily at John and John glared back at him. 

"What's going on?" Greg asked slowly. 

"If you don't mind, I need to check my patient in private," John snapped. Mycroft raised his eyebrows, but he looked annoyingly undisturbed by the aggression. 

"Very well. I will go and see about getting Gregory discharged, I presume you don't want to stay any longer than necessary." 

Greg sat up straighter, still confused by the undercurrent in the room. He was most definitely missing something about this situation.

"No, going home would be nice." 

"Very well," Mycroft turned and walked from the room, closing the door behind him. 

"Sit up," John ordered curtly. Greg raised his eyebrows and did as John asked letting him loosen the hospital gown to allow it to slip off his shoulder. 

"I don't feel injured there." 

"I know I just..." John paused, stopped fiddling and stood back. Greg kept himself propped up, staring at John in concern. 

"What is going on? Especially with you two." 

"He's micro-chipped you," John said flatly, obviously not wanting to shirk around the subject. Greg blinked as he processed the sliver of information, trying to filter it through his brain. The only problem was that he had spent long enough around Mycroft to realise it was not exactly a shocking fact when placed into that context. 

"Oh." Was the best response that he could manage. From a rather distance point of view he noticed John's eyes narrow. 

"Did you know?" 

The accusation felt rather sharp and Greg frowned. 

"No. Where did he?" Greg turned his head, guessing that was why John was examining his shoulder. 

"You don't remember him doing it?" 

"No," Greg answered. John's fingers paused examining Greg's shoulder locating a slight hard lump, so faint that it would be necessary to know it was there to find it. 

"How the hell did he get it implanted then. You must have noticed." 

Greg thought back, trying to process any point where it might have happened. 

"Not that I can remember," Greg said. "Not even during the negotiations at the omega centre. Mind you, this is Mycroft, he's devious enough to find a way to do it." 

"I'm sure I can find a way to take it out." 

Greg turned to look at John, who eyed him in concern. 

"Except Mycroft would have to agree to that. He is my alpha." 

"Yes, that doesn't make him your owner. I'm sure we can sort something. He has no right to do that to you." 

Greg sighed. John eyed him for a minute, Greg got the feeling that John's anger at the situation was slowly starting to shift towards him as well. The suspicion increased as John asked him, with an increasing edge to his voice. 

"Surely you don't want to leave it there?"


	7. The Arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back three months, Greg moves in with his new alpha.

Greg put the small bag of belongings on the bed and looked around. Mycroft’s house was entirely what he expected. The furnishings didn’t entirely match his mental picture. He had expected a modern flat, filled with bright, white surfaces. What he found instead looked almost medieval in design, wood panelling and old fashioned furniture. 

The affect, however, was the same. It looked sterile, unlived in, the old décor giving it the look of a museum, untouched and with little life. Except the gym area which looked well used. Greg wondered how often Mycroft spent time in his own home, and how often he would now Greg was in it. 

He supposed it didn’t matter if Mycroft was there or not, except when it came to his heats, and even then Mycroft might only be required to apply some pheromone traces. 

Greg unzipped the bag and started to pull out the meagre amount of stuff, considering situation as he did so. Mycroft already had arrangements in place for a doctor to deal with the insemination, if Greg preferred that method. Greg actually wondered which Mycroft wanted, but had fought shy of asking. It was clearly a decision he was leaving to Greg. 

He wondered if Mycroft was deliberately avoiding the issue. Greg shook his head and turned to look at the overly large chest of drawers against one wall, then he glanced down at his bag. It seemed slightly embarrassing to put such a small amount into the monstrous seeming item of furniture. He was saved from contemplating it as he heard Mycroft's footsteps and he appeared in the doorway. 

"I trust everything is to your satisfaction." 

Mycroft might well have been taking about a hotel room. It was his own home and he seemed to have no connection to it, apart from the fact the entire decor seemed to be so well suited to him. 

"It's fine," Greg said pulling out clothing and laying it out into something of a system so he could sensibly put it away. Mycroft looked at the piles and frowned. 

"I think perhaps we need to get you some more clothes." 

"I'm quite certain I had more than this, I don't know what happened to it all after..." 

"A few shopping trips will rectify the problem," Mycroft announced briskly. 

"And I'm sure I don't need you to buy me things." 

"I am your alpha, therefore it is my responsibility, do you wish me to try and find your previous alpha so she can hand over whatever remains of your belongings." 

"No, thanks; thanks for rubbing that in!" 

Mycroft looked puzzled. "Do you have anything that you wish to be returned? I have the possessions that the police confiscated, I will order them to be delivered. It only remains to deal with your employment." 

"I don't think there is anything that... what!" Greg felt despairing of what Mycroft was saying. "My what?" 

Mycroft looked at him steadily. "I do not believe that you will function well without something to occupy your time. My stipulations mean you will stay safe but there is no reason why you cannot work, and police work was your career of choice and you were not bad at it." 

"Apart from the fact that I ended up as a drugs mule, and because of that I have a criminal record." 

"The first yes, the second no."

Greg turned to stare at him. "What?" 

"You took the conditions I offered to be confined in the omega centre. Despite the fact that some of the staff knew the reason for your confinement, and separation from the others, it was never officially put on your record. As far as that is concerned you were cleared of the charges."

"But how did you manage that?" Greg asked stunned by the revelation. 

Mycroft shrugged looking entirely dismissive of the fact as he said. "I occupy a minor position within the British government, it means I have some influence." 

"Some influence?" Greg reiterated in disbelief. Sherlock had an entirely different perspective on his brother, and although he thought that Sherlock worded himself to make the facts seem inaccurate, he didn't tend to lie. When he had first encountered Mycroft, via Sherlock, Greg had the feeling that the comments were a warning. Sherlock was probably not best pleased with Greg and Mycroft's new arrangement. 

"Yes, some influence," Mycroft repeated with excessive patience. "Which I can therefore use to have you reinstated, although certain conditions will have to be met."

"Like what?" 

"I would rather you are more administrative based."

Greg's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Like a desk sergeant?" He wasn't sure if he felt keen on that idea or not. It felt like a step down, it was a step down, but he supposed it was better than nothing. He could always work his way back up again. There had to be a way round Mycroft's stipulation, until he explained the reasoning behind it. 

"It's unlikely you will take the first time but we do have to bear in mind that when you are carrying you will not be able to put yourself under strain.” 

Any argument Greg could make to that would fall flat. He had agreed to the terms of Mycroft’s contract, which were not exactly limiting. After reading it was clear he could carry on as normal a life as a male omega could get. Until of course his got pregnant and then life would completely change. 

And he had to admit, he saw Mycroft's point on that one. Mycroft clearly appeared to be reading the expressions crossing his face because he then added. 

"The arrangements are already in place, I merely have to let them know you are happy to start on Monday."

"Oh," Greg said. There wasn't much else to add, except one thing. "Thank you, I will be happy to."


	8. The Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure on the logistics of how miscarriages occur. I am running with a premise that for omegas they can be natural and do not always need medical attention. The only experience I have is my mum idly mentioning that it might have happened to her once, but she is northern, tough and old school... so I'm not asking. I'm doing the next few chapters with random knowledge and my own made up omega reactions and physiology.

The cramps started two days after Greg went back to work. His return, after the kidnapping, had been rather uneventful, most of the officers not saying anything to him, but there were enough hints that he had been missed, at least on a professional level. The few days off clearly hinted to them all just how good at the job he was. Even the superior officers had been treating him with a new level of respect. 

It rather amused him. Sally had at least bothered to look pleased to see him and ask him if he was all right, the others had quickly got their coffee orders in, and when Greg, muttering under his breath stomped into the kitchen he looked at the chaos that had been wreaked on the coffee machine and related equipment. It appeared he was the only one  
that could fathom the thing and they had been suffering caffeinated sludge over the last few days. He had organised the machine, fed everyone some much needed coffee, the production of the beverage had precipitated a chorus of heartfelt 'thank yous' which had cheered him a little. Then he had organised the paperwork that it also appeared no one but him could fathom and then went to clean up in the kitchen area. 

That was when it had happened, Greg's hand tensed on the dishcloth as he had felt the first ripple of pain from his abdomen. Then as the feeling slowly intensified he had let go of the material in favour of clenching his hand on the edge of the counter. He remained there for a minute or so, trying to process what was happening when he heard a voice. 

"You'd better get into the incident room, the Freak is..." 

Sally came to a halt in the doorway, watching Greg with shock, especially as he gave another groan of pain. 

"Oh God are you...?" Sally stared and then stopped. Greg leant over, resting his forearms on the counter and his knees buckled slightly. It was pointless her asking if he was all right when he clearly was not. 

"Sir?" she went to his side, taking his arm. Greg took several deep breaths, one hitching as his navel cramped again. He sagged down, trying to curl up in on himself. Part of his mind told him the pain was not that bad but in his head it felt much worse, because he knew what it was. 

"Do you need to sit down?" she asked the question but at the same time she pulled his arm to draw him towards the ragged looking sofa. Greg went with her, almost crawling into it, until he suddenly froze, feeling a gush of liquid, his hand clenched on the arm of the sofa and he girded his loins, feeling glad that he had worn dark trousers that day. He felt droplets of fluid start to run down his thighs.

"Toilet, I need to get to..." 

Sally said nothing, she merely tightened her hold on him and helped him to straighten up. He locked his hand in hers and Sally winced at the grip, but she kept it to herself. This was not about her. 

"Sir, you might want to get in there before... " Anderson appeared in the doorway and ground to a shocked halt the same way Donovan had done. He blinked, clearly trying to process the scene in front of him. 

"Get Dr Watson," Sally ordered. "I'll take him to the bathroom."

"Right, is he..." 

Greg closed his eyes as another cramp hit, he didn't need this, he should have stayed at home, close to Mycroft. He felt an odd, shuddering longing for his calm, dispassionate alpha. Although how he would react to the loss might make him wish for the opposite. 

"Find Dr Watson," Sally repeated her order curtly. Taking the hint Anderson ran off. Greg's vision blurred as Sally led him along the corridor. He kept his eyes on the floor, the gents lay a few metres down and she got him to the door without anyone else coming along. She bundled him through the door and guided him into a cubicle. Greg slumped down, struggling to unbuckle his belt, although he got the feeling that his trousers were ruined and it didn't really matter how much he bled on them. The pain lessened momentarily but another gush of liquid ran down between his legs. 

He paused fiddling to pull down his trousers when he heard the creak of the door. 

"Get out!" Sally ordered the man who had just walked in.

"But I need a piss!" 

"Use the ladies then, out. Just out!" 

Greg heard the sounds of a scuffle and he wondered if Donovan was forcefully ejecting the poor officer. Then another voice spoke. 

"What's going on?" John asked. 

"The boss... the sergeant... Greg," for a moment Donovan couldn't seem to remember what Greg actually was to her. At least she sounded worried enough to hint at the seriousness of the situation. Greg looked up at a tentative knock on the cubicle door. 

"Greg?" 

"John, I'm..."

He hadn't locked the door and he opened it slightly, giving John permission to enter the small space. John eased into the cubicle, while Sally appeared to be on guard by the door, determined to keep everyone out. 

"Oh shit!" John said. He crouched down and winced at the sight of the blood. "Shit! How bad are the pains?" 

"Cramps, they sort of take my breath away when they hit but... all things considered this is normal." 

"Deep breaths and stay calm." John said, his eyes drifting downwards, Greg tensed as he felt another strong surge. "I hate to say it, but if this is happening, then it clearing itself out is better than it lingering." 

"I know the theory. I've heard the theory a lot." 

"We can take you to the hospital, to the omega ward." 

"NO! I don't need that. I need that as a last resort, just take me home."

"Erm, well, that's a drive out, maybe an interim stop, Baker Street, that will be better." 

"These may be useful. I acquired them from DS Donovan." 

"Sherlock!" John snapped. Sherlock's hand and wrist appeared through the door, holding out a packet of two sanitary pads. 

"She gave them to me, and I presume her intention was for me to pass them on. We are not staying here, logic dictates that given the circumstances that is unwise." 

"Yes, thank you Sherlock. We're taking Greg to Baker Street. Can you stand?" 

"Yeah," Greg said, levering himself up and taking the packet of sanitary towels from Sherlock's hand. "Yes." 

"I will acquire a taxi." 

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Sherlock did so with a minimum of fuss, so it was waiting for them. Greg felt horribly conscious of the blood flowing from his body but he felt even more self-conscious when they arrived at Baker Street and Sherlock threw another Holmes quirk at him. 

"Surely my bedroom would be better." 

"Sorry?" John turned to ask. He had been about to take Greg up to his room but Sherlock's comment stilled him. 

"It would save walking up a flight of stairs and the bathroom is next door, surely my room is better." There was a slight paused, filled with silence. Sherlock looked confused, staring from John to Greg. "Is that wrong?" 

"No, Sherlock, it's not, thank you. Could you bring a towel though, that will help protect the bedding." 

"I can buy new ones if necessary," Sherlock said. "In the circumstances it's not a concern. Mycroft will no doubt refund me." 

"Ok, Sherlock, be quiet now, just for a minute." 

"Food isn't entirely important in this scenario, but I believe liquids are. I'm not sure what we have in stock," Sherlock continued, clearly his selective hearing was on. 

"Probably nothing," John said carefully depositing Greg down on the bed and shifting the covers about to get him settled. 

"I'll go shopping," Sherlock announced sounding entirely self-important, to the point that even Greg felt a flicker of amusement. 

"You? Shopping?" John asked. 

"I am buying liquid, I presume water, and energy drinks; drinks with taurine in them may be useful it would be prudent to check the other ingredients." 

"Yes, yes; Sherlock," John said absently. Sherlock frowned but took that as approval and disappeared out of the room. John tucked the covers around Greg. "Sorry."

"He's fine. He's just very like Mycroft, although probably not best to tell him that. I know you're angry with me." 

"What? About what?" John said. 

"The microchip. At least the fact I didn't make a fuss about it. I'm sorry."

John's jaw dropped, yes he had been cross but he had been constantly told he didn't understand. He didn't understand, he had to admit that. Before he could say anything he jumped at the sound of his phone ringing. He pulled it out, ready to ignore it until he saw who was calling. He answered it, reaching out to take Greg's hand. 

"Mycroft?" 

Greg's hand tensed. 

"My brother's text was rather ridiculous. Is Gregory fine and well?" 

"He's bleeding but nothing that is apparently a cause for concern. He doesn't need an omega doctor, he's fine and coherent. I can give him something for the pain if he needs it." 

There was a pause before Mycroft answered. 

"If you are concerned make the call, I have meetings until late afternoon, unless Gregory deteriorates there is nothing I can do for him. I will see him this evening." 

Mycroft hung up. John glared at his phone. 

"Is that it?! Really!" 

"Yeah," Greg said feeling better for it. "Probably."


	9. The Reconciliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all those people who commented on the previous chapter. It gave me a lot of help working on this story further.

"He's sleeping," John said as he opened the door to Mycroft. John backed up to let him over the threshold, but he looked highly reluctant to do so. 

"But he is well?" Mycroft asked. "Given the circumstances." 

John nodded, noting the concern that had seeped into Mycroft's voice. Mycroft went up the stairs with John on his heels. He went into the lounge, frowning at Sherlock who was hissing at the television. On seeing Mycroft he glared up at him. 

"I'm not allowed to shout," Sherlock said and he returned to hissing at the people on the reality show. 

"I didn't want Greg disturbed," John said. "Normally he's quite vocal."

Sherlock glowered, paying no attention to them. John indicated to the doorway at the far end. 

"He's in Sherlock's room."

Mycroft nodded and strolled in the direction of the bedroom, carefully opening the door. It was probably unnoticed by the two men in the living room, but Mycroft felt an odd twinge of reluctance about facing his omega. He knew he probably should have stopped what he was doing the moment Greg had started to miscarry, and come straight to see him, but under the circumstances his presence might have been more stressful than not. However he had decided to be rude enough to the ministers he was meeting that evening to end the conversation early. They were, if nothing else, stupid and annoying. 

He eased his way into the room, treading carefully. One lamp glowed dimly, giving the room a slight amount of illumination, presumably so if Greg woke, he would know where he was and not walk into anything if he got up. He lay with his back to the door, wadded up in the covers, his breathing steady. Mycroft pushed the door almost closed and stepped closer to the bed. 

Either Greg wasn't sleeping deeply or he unconsciously responded to the alpha scent as Mycroft lingered in the room. He gave a deep breath and slowly shifted, rolling over. By the look on his face he had not been expecting Mycroft. For a moment he stared up, eyes wary. 

"I'm sorry." 

Looking up, Greg noted the slight change in Mycroft's expression. He looked for a moment almost fond of him. Most of the time there was nothing entirely discernable about Mycroft's gaze, although there was never anything particularly aggressive about it there was always the sense of the underlying violence most alpha's had. In Mycroft's case it was controlled to the point of being emotionless; which made it somewhat frightening to deal with. Reaching down Mycroft's hand very gently brushed over his cheek, running upwards to his hair. Slowly, and excessively carefully, he sat down on the edge of the bed. 

"I fail to see what you have to apologise for." 

Greg winced. "I miscarried." 

"You have been recently kidnapped, which has put you under undue stress during what is a delicate time during the carrying stage. There are so many variables to the situation as you well know, but ordinarily I doubt you would have had an issue. It is not as if you went out of your way to get kidnapped, and then be forced to attempt an escape." 

"That's doesn't make it any easier," Greg said. "It's my job to carry a child. Maybe if I hadn't taken the risk trying to escape it wouldn't have happened."

"And perhaps if I had informed you about the microchip, you may not have done, and despite that you may have miscarried anyway. I think you are over thinking your culpability."

Mycroft ran his fingers into Greg's hair. He sounded quite certain of his facts, Greg didn't feel entirely convinced. Still, he found the physical contact soothing, his omega senses rawer than usual. Mycroft sensed something similar, Greg guessed, as he continued to gently stroke his hair. 

"Are you in any pain?" 

"A little, my lower back is aching, and my stomach, but John gave me something to ease it."

Mycroft nodded, clearly happy with that. He probably knew that if John became seriously worried that he would force Greg into a visit from an omega doctor, or that Greg would ask for help if he needed it. For a brief moment Mycroft remained silent, simply stroking Greg's hair. Greg gave a low sigh, and settled back into the bedding, closing his eyes as he relaxed. 

"You could stay here tonight," Mycroft eventually said. "It may be a bit crowded, so I can always retire to the Diogenes." 

Greg opened his eyes, looked up at Mycroft for any hint that he wanted to leave. There didn't appear to be any, and he hadn't been required to turn up the flat in the first place if he hadn't wanted to. Greg probably would have carried on sleeping through the night if Mycroft hadn't appeared.

“Or would you prefer to go home?” Mycroft asked. 

Something in Greg’s heart tensed; a pang of longing, so unexpected that it made him unable to answer immediately, hit him. Just at that moment he felt a deep need to get to what was now home; to be in the austere, stoic environment that he had become so used to, and until that moment didn’t appreciate. Mycroft’s stroking hand stilled, realising Greg was formulating an answer. 

“Home. Please.” 

In the dim light he wasn’t sure if he saw Mycroft smile or not, but he didn’t seem annoyed or surprised by the answer. Greg started to push the covers down, the sudden desire giving him energy to get moving, before Mycroft could, perhaps, change his mind. Mycroft's hand moved from his hair and he slowly stood up. 

"I'll let John know, are you all right getting yourself ready." 

Greg sat on the edge of the bed, hunching slightly as he felt the cramps, and nagging pain in his lower back, but he nodded. The overwhelming need to be at home had started to override any other considerations. 

"I'll be all right." 

Mycroft went out, pulling the door almost closed behind him. He walked back to the living area where the two occupants waited expectantly. 

"I'm taking him home. He wants to go." 

John frowned. Sherlock smirked. 

"He'll need someone to stay with him," John said, slightly accusingly. 

"I have some work I can do from home. If I am called in for any reason I'm sure Gregory will be able to cope for a short length of time," Mycroft all but snapped at him. John looked unconvinced. 

"I'll go and check him first," he announced brushing past Mycroft. 

The only move Sherlock made was a slight lifting of his eyebrows. Mycroft stared out of the window, before pointedly turning away from his younger brother. Whatever he had done to allow Sherlock to make the deduction, Sherlock would be accurate in his conclusion. Mycroft had decided there was no point having no work to do, that would merely drive him insane. 

But the moment he had found out what had happened the alpha had shifted, juggled and downright blanked his schedule to make sure that for the next few days he could be close to his omega's side. 

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

What did come as a surprise and which Sherlock would probably deduce later, was how close to that side it would be. 

Mycroft had never imposed himself on Greg, and had no intention of doing so. However, after hours of lying in his own bed, restless, the dull ache reminding him, niggling at his natural instinct, the compulsion became too strong. Greg got up and left his own room, walking in the moonlight, out of his own room and down the short corridor, knowing his way, without ever really walking it before. He paused on the threshold of Mycroft's room before pushing the door open. It wasn't completely closed, so he took that as something of an invitation. The moonlight helped him make out the shapes, the furniture, including the large bed, and the shadows of the figure lying under the sheets. 

For a moment Greg lingered, unsure how to go any further. But in the same way that he had seemed to have sensed Mycroft's presence as he slept in Sherlock's bed, the alpha now did the same for him. Mycroft, shifted, tensed and slowly lifted his head, turning it in the direction of his omega.

They just stared at each other, until Mycroft sat up a little further. 

"Gregory?" 

Mycroft deduced that Greg was not unwell, he wouldn't be stood so steadily if he was in any pain or serious discomfort. He wasn't able to read the expression on his face due to the dim lighting. His only option appeared to be to get up and move closer. As he started to shift in the bed Greg answered the question. 

"I can't sleep," he said, paused, took a sharp breath and then finished the sentence. "On my own."

His omega senses were quite clear on the solution to the problem. He wanted his alpha's scent. Maybe he could have just located something that smelt strongly of Mycroft, but the one thing that did smell quite assuredly of that scent, was Mycroft himself, who was only four doors down the corridor. Mycroft remained still for a moment before easing himself back down into the bed and a light flick of his hand lifted the corner of the sheet up in invitation. 

"Very well." 

Greg didn't hesitate, although part of his mind did ask him what he thought he was doing. Mycroft didn't care about him, he was just doing what was necessary for an omega in his care, whom he wanted to breed on. If Greg became too needy, he'd just get bored. Greg knew just how easily bored Sherlock could get, Mycroft was probably no different. Even his wife had eventually got bored of him. 

Then again, Greg told himself as he slipped between the sheets, Mycroft was quite willing to acquiesce to any of his needs. He had eased across to one side of the bed and Greg slotted into the other, feeling the warmth of the sheets, and putting his nose to the pillow inhaled, breathing out heavily as the scent filled his senses. 

They didn't touch. Mycroft made no move to give any physical comfort, it would have felt entirely false to both of them if he had. But Greg lay close enough, aware of Mycroft's physical presence, and closing his eyes it took him less than a minute to fall asleep.


	10. The Reaction

The scent was Mycroft's first signal, traces lingering in the air, tasting sharper than usual. The second was the clutter; Greg's pocket contents, including his phone and keys lay scattered on the table and floor, an assortment of coins surrounding them. 

Mycroft followed the trail, a jacket and a scattering of tissues on the stairs, straight up to Greg's room. 

As he stood on the threshold he almost recoiled at the wall of scent that hit him. The power of Greg's heat was overwhelming and judging by the figure on the bed it was causing a great deal of distress. Greg had got himself onto the bed and had clearly attempted to strip his clothing but he hadn't managed it fully. He had ripped his tie off, and had scrabbled helplessly at his shirt, ripping it in several places. Clearly he hadn't enough co-ordination to deal with his belt, he had pulled hard enough on the material to rip his trousers at the waistband. In the end he had given up and had now just resorted to rubbing himself against the bed. 

Slowly, controlling his movements carefully Mycroft entered the room exerting his mental power to keep his reactions to a minimum. His cock hardened, that part he couldn't control, the physical response ingrained into him, but he could prevent himself from jumping forward and taking Greg without assessing the situation. 

Greg however had other ideas on the subject. When Mycroft came close enough his rutting movements stilled and his head turned. His eyes weren't exactly blank, but his pupils were dilated and although he clearly tried to react with some sense, the need overwhelmed him, the unexpected heat hitting him hard. It was a physical response to the loss of the foetus. No doubt Greg knew the facts as well as Mycroft did, and those heats could hit hard, and quickly, the body still weakened by the loss and suddenly rocked by the hormones and need. It was not a good combination, and one that required action. 

Mycroft had a few seconds to debate his position. He made his decision as Greg lunged at him, reaching to grab him. Mycroft could easily subdue and restrain him before contacting the doctor to deal with the situation, but that could take time, causing further unnecessary stress. As an alpha he had a far simpler method to get the situation under control. In the cold light of day Greg may not appreciate the response, but for the most part he tended to see things logically. 

That decided Mycroft grabbed Greg's arm and used the grip to turn him, levering him over so he landed face down on the bed. He grabbed some of the loose folds of Greg's shirt and pushed the material up, there was no point removing that fully at this point, instead he exposed the skin of Greg's back and used the material as an anchor to hold the omega down. Then he slid his other hand down and round to release Greg's belt buckle yanking the material down as soon as he had loosened it. 

Mycroft's movements were sure and decisive. He never particularly sought out company to relieve his physical needs but that didn't mean he hadn't made the effort to ensure he knew what to do in a situation such as this. Greg bucked his hips, trying to rise to present to Mycroft. The alpha let him and then pulled his legs out from under him to drag his trousers and underwear off throwing them somewhere on the floor. With a desperate whimper Greg struggled back up, determined to get into position. Mycroft let him, loosening his own trousers easing them off his hips. He didn't bother undressing, once he had relieved the immediate distress he could then bring a semblance of sanity to the situation. 

Greg's body appeared entirely receptive to him, so he didn't bother checking if Greg was ready for him, he simply pushed inside. Mycroft gasped as he entered the tight, wet heat, and Greg pushed back into him, shifting his hips eagerly. It took three hard thrusts and the body underneath his relaxed, abruptly submitting to the dominant alpha. Mycroft settled Greg down on the bed and continued to thrust into him. After about a minute he felt Greg lurch and tense under him, whimpering with release, and then he went even more boneless than before, sprawling on the bed. He had obviously climaxed, his body clamping around Mycroft's cock. 

Several more thrusts and Mycroft tensed, feeling his knot swell, he had a second's pause to decide on the best course of action. Greg's hips shifted upwards, wanting to take the knot, feeling the swelling inside him. However, Mycroft denied him the pleasure, pulling out before he could be tied to the omega, instead splashing semen over Greg's thighs, and the bedding. Greg scrabbled against the sheets, lifting his hips and giving a confused murmur. Mycroft ran his hand through Greg's hair and gently pushed him down onto the bed, minding the sticky patch he had just created. 

"In time, calm down."

Greg murmured again, sounding confused, but the release had the effect Mycroft desired. 

“What just…? Did you…?” 

“You’re in reactionary heat,” Mycroft said. “You were clearly in some distress and I aimed to alleviate the immediate problem. How do you wish to proceed?” 

Greg turned to look over his shoulder, slowly twisting his upper body to look at Mycroft. 

"Have you just... had sex with me?" Greg had half paused his sentence and then forced himself to finish it, he had had enough of sounding and behaving like an idiot in front of Mycroft. To his surprise the question made Mycroft cower slightly. 

"You were in distress and were not your usual self. I could have restrained you and called the doctor but I did not think you would have appreciated that. I can call the relative authorities regarding your condition." 

"NO!" Greg took a breath, he could feel his body reacting, responding to Mycroft's scent, but it was familiar, safe and he could hold on longer before he lost all reason. Greg knew these heats were dangerous, he had seen one young girl in the aftermath of a miscarriage beat her head so violently against the wall she had become beyond saving; despite attempts to help her. Between the doctor or Mycroft handling him Greg chose easily. 

"No. You didn't knot me?" 

"I thought to get you calm and then make a decision." 

"I don't want the doctor, I want to stay with you." 

"This does need outside help, I need my phone, I will call Dr Watson." 

Greg rolled onto his back, spreading his legs. Mycroft ran one hand between Greg's legs while the other fiddled with his phone. 

"He won't know how to help with this." 

"Sherlock does, but if I call him he may ignore me. Dr Watson will not, and will relay the information to my brother who can provide what we need. I think you are still in the early stages of the process."

"It's going to get worse."

"If you consent, next time we have intercourse, I will knot you, it may soothe the situation quicker. I have not had dealings with a reactionary heat first hand but I have dealt with other, similar, scenarios." 

"I have with a reactionary, it's manageable. I trust you." 

"I may not just be me you need to do so. If you become difficult to handle I may need Sherlock and Dr Watson's help in restraining you." 

Greg debated that, but they had both seen him at his worst before. Just as he had dealt with them at bad times. He still had some video footage of a senseless Sherlock after he had been drugged by Irene Adler. He hadn't shown it to Mycroft, but that threat worked to keep Sherlock under control; sometimes. 

"Fine." 

"And if I think it's required then I call the doctor." 

Greg nodded. "Agreed." 

Then he gasped as he felt his body clench again, his body started to feel hot and his head spun. Greg lay back, taking deep breaths in an attempt to settle himself down. He remembered the last heat he had, when he had become pregnant. That had been done at the centre, strapped down and impregnated artificially, alpha pheromones given to him in gas form. It had been clinical, professionally done. Greg had only done it that way because he figured, given Mycroft's personality, that the alpha preferred that. It was before the point when Greg realised Mycroft would do whatever Greg wanted, idly taking on his wishes without even thinking twice. Mycroft held a strong level of respect for his omega, without even realising it was there. Greg hadn't noticed it until recently when it had occurred to him exactly why Mycroft adhered to every request he made. 

Mycroft ran his hand over Greg's chest, stroking him gently to keep him settled, but he moved to get off the bed. 

"I need to make this call, and find some water. We should not proceed any further without making any plans." 

"I'll be fine for a minute." 

Mycroft nodded and left, Greg heard his voice, the sound fading as Mycroft went down the stairs. Greg took a deep breath, sweat prickling on his skin and his body tensing with need. He was only a few hours into the scenario, it was going to get far worse before it got better. Logic dictated that he should go to the omega centre, they knew how to cater for the scenario but it was the last place Greg wanted to be. 

He had handled heats before, he told himself, how hard could it be?


	11. The Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set a month or so after chapter 10 but I will be backtracking where necessary. Quite obviously this is set around S2Ep1.

To say the situation was uncomfortable was something of an understatement. Sherlock sat in a chair by the fireplace while Mycroft faced off with Irene Adler. He didn’t contribute to the conversation, but merely stared into the fire. Greg didn’t contribute either, he wasn’t even sure why he was sat in the room, at the far end of the dining table, watching Mycroft and Irene Adler. He was quite interested by her, in the fact she had somehow managed to manipulate Sherlock and Mycroft, and the situation. 

He had wondered if he had turned into something akin to furniture at some point in his time with Mycroft. When the trio had appeared one look at Mycroft's face had told him the situation was serious, and it was not a social gathering, and perhaps offering coffee was not the route to take. However, on trailing after them and sitting down to watch the scene play out, he received no objections, and he didn't doubt they were aware of him. Irene treated him as insignificant, the alpha female having no interest. Then again, from what he had gleaned her inclinations meant he was not to her taste, although intriguingly Sherlock appeared to be. Even Mycroft to some extent, he noted as he picked up the scents in the room, he had become a little more attuned to them ever since his reactionary heat. Hard not to, he told himself. 

As an omega he could be safely ignored by the two alphas. And further to that Mycroft trusted him. 

“You know what he calls you, the ‘Iceman’, and the ‘Virgin’.” 

Irene sounded slightly amused, and she looked at Greg curiously as he gave a snort of laughter. It was the only sound he had made, and he didn't try to explain. All things considered the two names were apt enough to be humorous, but Greg knew the inaccuracies. Irene looked at him archly. Greg said nothing back but he caught Mycroft's disapproving expression. 

"Sorry," Greg said. 

He was still debating whether or not he had put his foot in it when he realised the scene in front of him had passed on. Greg blinked as he caught sight of the phone and realised Sherlock had found the password. 

"I'm sorry for any inconvenience I caused," Sherlock informed Mycroft. 

Greg frowned, forgotten again for the moment as he looked at Sherlock, idly wondered if he had known the code all along. 

"It's quite obvious when you think about it," Greg said, reminding them again that he was still in the room. 

“Quite,” Sherlock said to him, looking smug. Irene looked shocked, and somewhat shattered. Greg felt a stirring of sympathy. She had ended up with nothing, he knew what that felt like, when the rug came out from under you and there was nothing to fall on. His safety net had turned out to be Mycroft. He hadn't met him before then, despite his association with Sherlock, but he had eventually realised that the older Holmes had known all about him. He was close to Sherlock and therefore required investigation. Now and again he wondered how many of the criteria that Mycroft wanted in an omega had been filled before they had even met.

"Is that it?" Greg asked as Irene left, alone and without any support from either Mycroft or Sherlock. 

"What else is there?" Mycroft asked him walking from the room. Greg turned to Sherlock, who appeared to be behaving as if Greg wasn't there. Mycroft took that opportunity to disappear. Sherlock simply shrugged on his coat and carefully adjusted his scarf. Greg knew the two men would not say goodbye to each to each other. Mycroft would expect Sherlock to leave when he was ready. However, there was a greater level of tension, more than the two men being so aware of each others nature, and both clashing. Greg winced as he thought about it.

"Aren't you going to help her?" 

"She's lived on her own resources for long enough," Sherlock informed him curtly. "Besides, I don't have any influence that can assist her." 

"You can talk to Mycroft."

Sherlock paused fiddling with his scarf. He turned his full gaze onto Greg. Recently he had avoided doing so, and had been particularly careful when Mycroft was around. During work Sherlock ferried his comments through John. 

"Do you really think he has any desire to listen to me?" 

"He was the one that put the Adler case in your lap." 

"And he did that before..." Sherlock tailed off, giving Greg a significant look. Greg didn't say any more to that, instead he watched as Sherlock swept out of the room and a moment later Greg heard the front door slam. He exhaled heavily, after months of the Adler case occupying them around it seemed quite odd that it was over. 

For a moment he fidgeted, unsure of how to proceed. Then he got up and headed upstairs. Mycroft was not in his room and considering the situation, there was only one other place that he was likely to be. Greg went along the corridor to the room that Mycroft had converted into a gym, and sure enough he had changed clothes and was on the running machine. 

Although he didn't change pace, turn his head or do anything to indicate his awareness, Mycroft probably knew he was there. Greg shuffled over the threshold and put himself into Mycroft's line of sight. The only acknowledgment he received was a slight flickering of Mycroft's eyes. 

"Do you think it's as simple as that?" 

"I have the phone, and access to the information on it. All I merely required were the pictures, now I have more." 

"And you won't give her anything because of that?" 

"She overplayed her hand. Moriarty backing her made her more confident, and therefore more likely to slip up." 

"I think she also had Sherlock." 

Mycroft's eyes did turn to him, they were almost glacial, but contained something that Greg had never seen before. He almost took a step back but controlled himself at the last moment. Seeing that was probably the reason that Mycroft answered. 

"Sherlock overplayed the situation as well. They are very similar, give them a stimulus and they will respond. Moriarty has played them both and ruined years of planning on my part. There are times when Sherlock is little more than a child and all that can be done is to clear up his mess." 

"Do you really think it's as simple as that?" 

Mycroft didn't answer he just focused on his running. Greg stood there, wondering if he was missing something. He didn't think he was. 

"Look, I know you're angry at Sherlock, for what he did, but that is not what this situation is about." 

Mycroft's pace didn't falter as he glared up at Greg. Greg's voice faltered Mycroft spoke over him.

"It is not, and you are presumptuous in thinking you can hold any sway. You are my omega and you are still yet to produce as you should. Although you cannot be considered responsible for the previous occasion you would do well to be aware of the dangers. I bought and paid for you and as you are capable of what is required, you need to do better. And you think you can dictate to me because of my moment weakness; and do you think you can manipulate this situation further? You are still on probation, if I choose I can put you back there."

Greg took a step back in shock. It was not the words. Mycroft didn't say anything other than the truth. It was the way he said it. There was no emotion to his voice, he just stated what he wanted Greg to hear and the threats held sway, he could put Greg back in the omega centre. He felt his eyes widen as he met Mycroft's, for a brief moment, before Mycroft turned his head slightly to concentrate on what he was doing, Greg firmly dismissed. 

"Right, okay," Greg said almost to himself. Mycroft didn't even acknowledge him, which made the situation far worse. Greg turned on his heel and walked out of the room trying to maintain some level of composure. When he made it back to his room his heart was pounding, mostly fear, but some anger. Mycroft had brought up the misfortune of the miscarriage. What he said didn't lay blame for the incident at Greg's door, but it had happened, and couldn't be undone.

That caused the anger, the words, but the look in Mycroft's eyes caused the fear, what burned in them during that minute made Greg aware of exactly what Mycroft could be capable of. Moriarty might have called him the Iceman but that façade hid something else. 

Greg shut the door to his room and lay down. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. His heart started to slow and he bit down on his lip to give him something to focus on. Despite that he couldn't shift the frightening expression from his mind's eye while he debated Moriarty's view of the two brothers. 

Greg knew Sherlock was no virgin, at least not in the literal sense. He did see the world in such a childlike, remote way that you could be forgiven for thinking it. Greg's stomach clenched at the way he had found that fact out, and he wondered if Mycroft somehow blamed Greg for that event. 

He wasn't about to ask, not after seeing that burning fire in Mycroft's eyes. Iceman most certainly did not begin to accurately describe that. His hand ran over his navel and for the first time since the situation had started he felt a shiver of real, ice-cold fear. 

Maybe that was where the nickname came from.


	12. The Apology

"Oh Gregory, I thought I heard you." 

Greg turned at Mrs Phillips voice, and he smiled at Mycroft's efficient omega housekeeper. His housekeeper now as well, he supposed. 

"Yes, the car just dropped me off." 

"Did you have a nice holiday? It's a shame Mr Holmes couldn't go with you. He could do with a nice rest, he's always so busy." 

Greg smirked but didn't comment on the idea of Mycroft on holiday, it was the same as trying to work out why, after so many years as Mycroft's housekeeper that she still called him Mr Holmes. Surely a little familiarity had to have developed. It didn't seem to hold out much hope for Greg's relationship with him if that was the case. And how the hell had he managed to think that? his mind asked. 

"You didn't really need to spruce up the house though," Greg said, not that it didn't always look immaculate but there were generally some traces of life in it, usually his.

"Oh it wasn't hard," she announced as she pulled on her coat. "Mr Holmes spent most of the time at work, or at his club. I don't think he quite knew what to do with himself without you here." 

She looked at him quite knowingly as she spoke, a minute glitter in her eye. Greg felt a slight lift at the idea that Mycroft might have missed him, even though it was his idea to send him on holiday. For a few days, after Greg had left, he had felt a bit miffed about being shunted off. He didn't think that it was the best of apologies, but that wasn't, it had slowly occurred to Greg, entirely what it was. 

"I've made you some sandwiches, I didn't know if you would be hungry when you landed, they are wrapped up in the fridge, and there is a goulash on the stove for tonight which just needs heating up," she told him. "Mr Holmes said he would be back for six."

"Yeah, I spoke to him," Greg said. It had in fact been a text conversation, which was how they had communicated over the last ten days, but Mrs Phillips never seemed to comprehend the idea of such a thing, so Greg simplified it for her. She beamed at him. 

"And he left you a present, I put it in your bedroom." 

Greg raised his eyebrows. "Okay, and thanks, for the food." 

"I know you're sensible, but he really doesn't eat enough," she announced, looking a little concerned. Greg wondered how much Mycroft had bothered to eat over the last few days. 

"I'll make sure he has something." 

"I'll be in late tomorrow," she told him, again with a knowing look, as if he and Mycroft would be needing some privacy. Greg wasn't sure about that, but he smiled and waited for her to leave before taking his suitcase up to his room and he stared at the bouquet of flowers on the chest of drawers. It was elegant and understated, made up mostly of roses. A card peeked out from some of the green foliage on one side. Greg saw his own name on the front, inside Mycroft hadn't written any words, merely swirling a large ornate 'M' in the pristine white card. 

"It's the thought that counts," Greg informed the flowers, as he put the card down carefully next to the vase. Quite possibly Mycroft had no idea what to write, or rather he probably knew a few key phrases that he could have written but would have hated the sentiment in them. Therefore he'd rather say nothing. 

Turning to open his suitcase Greg sifted through the clothes, while he also sifted facts in his mind. 

Mycroft couldn't really openly apologise, but what he had said in a rather roundabout way had been 'I'm sorry I pointed out some rather unsavoury facts about our relationship, and for that reason I think you are better away for a while.' It had taken Greg a few days to realise why, and he had had to think as laterally as Mycroft often did. Mycroft had the power to send him back to the omega centre, but on a similar note, the contract meant that Greg could take himself back to the centre if he found his alpha's behaviour unacceptable. And Mycroft believed he had crossed a line. The purpose of getting Greg away was so Mycroft could ensure he didn't inflict any more damage and hopefully prevent Greg from taking any steps to extract himself from the contract. 

In truth, Mycroft really should have known better. Greg had been tolerating Sherlock's tactlessness for years, so he could handle Mycroft's; it was just a little more personal. Dealing with Mycroft was easier, because he generally acquiesced to most of Greg's needs without question, and Mycroft did that simply because the mechanics of a relationship were not something he was familiar with, or even good at. Mycroft went with it because he was using Greg's opinions and needs as his yardstick to make the relationship run smoothly. He had fallen out of line during that confrontation after the Irene Adler incident, and for the two days following it Greg had carefully avoided him. Analysing the behaviour he concluded that Greg didn't want to be near him, therefore Mycroft had booked the holiday, allowing a separation to occur.

What would happen when Mycroft returned tonight would be slightly interesting. 

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Greg was heating the food when Mycroft stormed into the kitchen. He had heard him come in, and go to his study, as Mycroft always did, but the time between that and him seeking out Greg was significantly shorter than usual. 

Mycroft did look a tad gaunt and pale, although he had probably eaten something the obsession with dieting made it hard for him to eat on the run. Greg stirred the goulash as it started to simmer. Mycroft loosened his tie and announced.

"Sherlock is insufferable!" 

Greg turned to glance at him. "Yes," he agreed mildly. "Sit down, Mrs Phillips made goulash." 

Mycroft frowned, but did take a seat. She had laid the table in the dining room, but it seemed far too formal to Greg, so he moved the place settings, wine glasses and two candles into the kitchen, which had a casual air to it in comparison. 

"What's he done?" Greg asked as he started to spoon the goulash into bowls. 

"What is that?" Mycroft asked, his question meaning that he wanted the contents of the dish. Greg wasn't giving it to him. 

"Goulash; it's perfectly healthy," Greg told him putting a bowl of it down in front of Mycroft. He peered at it warily. 

"I'm not hungry," Mycroft said. 

"Eat it." Greg huffed. "You're just like Sherlock at times." 

Those were the magic words. Especially since Mycroft was angry with Sherlock. Neither of them could stand having comparisons pointed out, but they were so similar and it explained why they clashed so much. Greg sat down and started to eat himself, ripping a bread roll to pieces. Mycroft looked pained at both the food and the mess Greg was making. 

"I'll clean it up," he said dropping a quarter of the roll onto Mycroft's side plate. "What's he done?" 

"Used my identity card to gain access to a private research lab on Dartmoor." 

"Why?" Greg asked. 

"A case he is working on." 

"I've lost count of the number of times he stole my warrant card." 

"You could have had him arrested for that," Mycroft said. 

"I know, but usually the result was him finding something that solved the case, so it seemed slightly ungracious to start arresting him. Besides I got it back before he could manage any serious damage." 

Mycroft snorted. 

"Not so this time?" Greg asked. 

“I believe I managed to smooth the incident over.” 

"But...?" Greg prompted. Mycroft glowered and didn't speak for a moment. Greg was about to shrug it off, at least they were managing to behave somewhat normally to each other, the subject of Sherlock was something they could talk about, and occasionally agree on, without much hassle. However after a short pause Mycroft carried on talking. 

"I would have thought that Dr Watson would have the sense to head off some of my brother's schemes. Since he accompanied him into the laboratory, I can presume that is not the case." 

"He won't let him get into any serious trouble though," Greg said.

"That appears to depend on your definition of serious trouble. Our Dr Watson, is a little too fond if it at times," Mycroft said before eating some more. Greg didn't interrupt that. When Mycroft forgot his diet he could eat for England. Greg would have preferred that, he didn't honestly think Mycroft could gain that much weight. He was so lost in thought it took Greg a moment to realise that Mycroft was staring at him intently. 

"What?" 

"You still have a few days of your holiday left?" 

"I guess so," Greg said. "A couple anyway." 

"I'm sure it's a week," Mycroft said decisively, by the look in his eyes he clearly had something planned. Greg got the hint as Mycroft added. 

"In which case, could you possibly do me a small favour?"


	13. The Talk

They tucked themselves into a quiet corner of the cafe. John didn't think taking Greg to the pub would be appropriate given the circumstances. Greg stared into his coffee before taking a long sip. 

"Thanks for coming with me," he eventually said. John shrugged. 

"That's fine. It's good news, isn't it?" 

"Yes." Greg answered slowly, as if trying that idea out. 

"Well, it's...." John started and then paused. "Did you not want to ever....?" 

"Breed?" Greg asked finishing the sentence. John nodded keeping silent. "It's not something I had ever really put into my mind. My wife..." Greg paused, swallowing another sip of coffee, that was not something he really wanted to think about. "Alpha males are usually willing to donate if an omega is with a female alpha and omegas often act as surrogates."

"What would have happened if your wife had got pregnant?" John asked, curiosity overcoming tact. 

Greg shrugged. "I presume the pairing of male omega on female alpha used to work fine, there are records of it, but over the last few decades that has caused some of the bloodlines to drop into latency and the breeding becomes intermittent. The fertility of omega males is beginning to drop." 

"So presumably somewhere in my family history the genes were active?" John said. "Although I didn't know I even carried it until recently."

Greg looked up, regarding him steadily. "And if you had children with an omega, or even someone carrying the latent gene chances are you may produce a full-blooded child."

John frowned. "Really?"

"The latency reverts at random. That's why the centres are also asking any one with a latent gene to sign up as well. And I think you are in with a good chance of doing so, I've see the way to react to women; hell.... I can see the way you react to us." 

The 'us' John presumed meant Mycroft, Sherlock and Greg. He felt slightly worried. 

"What have I done? I don't date that much, and have I ever..." John waved his hand in Greg's direction. 

Greg laughed. "Nothing that could be construed as coming on to me, don't worry." 

"Anyway, that's off topic," John said feeling mildly embarrassed. Greg's expression of amusement sobered slightly. 

"Yes." 

"Does Mycroft have any idea?" 

"None. It's unexpected." 

"Yeah, I thought reactionary heats didn't work like that." 

"It's rare but not unheard of."

"But he'll be pleased surely?" 

"Maybe if he can get past the idea that there is another potential father."

"Why do I get the feeling you watch the same rubbish television as I got Sherlock into? I think the risk is pretty minor." 

"Still a risk." 

"But this is Mycroft, he can probably calculate the odds for you."

Greg looked unsure, and he went back to staring at his coffee. John said nothing for a moment as someone walked past. Judging by the way their eyes drifted to Greg, nostrils flaring slightly, John guessed them to be an alpha. He continued to eye Greg with interest until he caught John glowering at him. Waiting until the passer-by couldn't overhear John leant forward. Greg had remained oblivious to the entire exchange, his gaze had stayed on his coffee. 

"Think about it, Sherlock only did it once, he wore a condom and didn't knot you. Whereas Mycroft...?" 

"I know the logic, John," Greg said. "But I don't think logic comes into this." 

"Yes, it does. You were in severe reactionary heat, you most certainly had no control over the situation, including your own behaviour." 

Greg shuddered at the memory. Flashes of his heat passed through his mind at odd moments and when he had woken lucid, severely restrained and with Mycroft recovering from a blow to the head from which he had stayed unconscious for ninety minutes Greg had sensed something had gone on. 

"That does not make this better." 

"I admit, it's hardly perfect, but I don't exactly think this is a hearts and flowers situation. You are under contract to produce an alpha's child."

"Which I might not be doing."

"If he's concerned do you think Mycroft will make you have an abortion?" 

Greg shook his head. "He won't find an official place that will do it. It's bad enough I miscarried the first one. No one will abort this child, but Mycroft may reject it." 

"But the contract states that you have parental rights?" 

"I do, but that needs to be backed by an alpha. Mycroft might not." 

John's jaw tensed, and he glared. He appeared to be looking at Greg but his eyes were a little unfocused, locking on a point just past him. 

"No, he won't. Sherlock won't let him. I bloody well won't let him!" 

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

That was all very well, but that still didn't give Greg any hint as to what Mycroft's reaction would be. The facts were in Mycroft's favour but that didn't mean anything, despite his logic there was still an alpha in Mycroft trying to get out. Greg knew Mycroft was at home this afternoon so he went straight to his study and pushed open the door. Mycroft looked up from whatever he was writing. 

"Can I talk to you?" Greg asked, already well through the door. He watched Mycroft assess him, the calm blue eyes giving nothing away. Mycroft put his pen down, folded down his laptop and sat back. Why the hell he was writing while he had a computer in front of him Greg couldn't really fathom but he didn't comment, he just sat down. 

"I went to the omega centre today," he blurted out as a rather inelegant opening. Mycroft looked startled, almost panicked. 

"For what reason?" 

It then occurred to Greg that Mycroft thought his conciliatory actions towards Greg had not helped, and Greg planned to break the contract. 

"I went to see the doctor," Greg said, deciding to just announce it rather than letting Mycroft's mind start deducing. "I appear to have taken from the reactionary heat." 

There was a pause before Mycroft spoke. Thirty two seconds if Greg counted correctly. 

"You're carrying?" 

"Yes, and I know that means that perhaps Sher...." 

"Did you suspect this while you were running over Dartmoor chasing a mysterious hound?" 

Greg sat back and scowled. "I don't see what that has to do with it. It's not the issue we need to discuss." 

"Sherlock is highly unlikely to be the father, despite his command of the situation during your heat," Mycroft announced. 

'Please God don't start calculating the odds' Greg thought to himself. 

"However, did you have any suspicions before I sent you to Dartmoor?" Mycroft asked. 

"Sort of, if I followed my usual timings, but a reactionary can throw that out of sync." 

"But all things considered, Gregory, you should have been wary, you have already lost one child." 

Greg gritted his teeth, his ire rising. Mycroft sat further back in his chair. 

"In entirely different circumstances!" 

"In a stressful situation." Mycroft's voice stayed level, but he was starting to feel a little wary of Greg's temper. 

"No, it was not! The first time I was kidnapped, with no idea where I was or who they were. This time I went of my own accord, I could choose what the hell I was doing, and John and Sherlock were there with me. I was perfectly safe. And don't tell me Mycroft bloody Holmes that I don't know what I'm doing!" 

"Quite frankly when it comes to raising a child, I think neither of us know what we're doing." 

Greg's eyes widened in shock and realisation. "Oh bloody hell!"


	14. The Birth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the timeline this is set a month after Sherlock's fall.

John hadn't got the message until several hours after it had been left, and it was another hour until he acted on it. He walked gingerly into the omega hospital looking around warily. There was a different feeling to it than a normal hospital. The waiting room was quiet, almost empty, no distressed relatives sitting about, people waiting for appointments. He felt he should tiptoe across the room to the desk for fear of making any noise. 

It really should have been a familiar environment, given his career but was too remote from what he was used to. The building was smaller, designed for the purpose of keeping omega's healthy, although he presumed betas and alphas also used the facilities. It was the omegas, however, that got most of the attention, as the castes were working to prevent the decline of their bloodlines. Arguments raged over whether it was worth bothering with, and breeding omega males remained a particularly controversial issue. But that sort of thing didn't make it into this building. 

The fresh faced receptionist looked up as he paused by the desk, her grey eyes assessed him, and she sniffed, frowning slightly as she didn't pick up any defining scent from him. 

"Can I help you?" her voice friendly and pleasant. 

"Yeah, I just came in to enquire about Gregory Lestrade, he went into labour this morning. I wondered if there was any news, I'm a friend of his...." 

Chances were they might not tell him anything. He paused as the girl assessed him again, with greater interest and then turned to her computer. 

"What's your name?" 

John blinked. "John Watson." As he wondered why that mattered she tapped on her keyboard, and a moment later told him. 

"Yes, I have you listed as an authorized attendants. I'll just call for someone to take you through." 

"Thanks,” John felt rather dazed. The receptionist spoke brightly into the phone. 

"Hi, I have Dr John Watson here, he's an authorized attendant for Gregory Lestrade." There was a short pause. "Okay," she said brightly and put the phone down. 

"Someone will be along in a minute to take you through. It’s quiet today so someone should be though fairly soon." 

"Thanks," John said, and a second later another bright, fresh faced nurse appeared, trotting towards the desk eagerly. 

"Dr Watson?" she asked brightly. 

"Yes," John said, almost standing to attention. She gave him a bright smile, as did the receptionist. 

"If you come with me." 

John didn't feel entirely comfortable doing so, but equally, given the welcome and the fact that he did want to know how Greg was, he just smiled politely and let the woman lead him through a set of doors towards a lift. It was waiting for them and as they stepped inside she pressed the button to take them up to the third floor. 

"Is he all right?" 

"Everything is going well, he checked in early this morning, when he thought things were starting. It may be a little while before he's ready to birth but the progress is fine, and he's comfortable."

John left it at that. He had tried to learn something on the subject but some information was a little hard to come by. It was probably why humans looked upon the castes with some derision, they simply knew nothing about a group they were excluded from, and the castes themselves were hard to get information out of. John had found that Greg was more open than most others but even Greg had bits he wouldn't tell. In his case though, John thought that it wasn't secrecy that prevented Greg from explaining, but more the fact that he had decided that John wouldn't understand. John did his best but some facets of their interaction baffled him. What he could work out was that Greg seemed quite content with the arrangement he had with Mycroft, and despite it being highly baffling to John he knew it was sensible to leave it well alone. 

He followed the nurse into the room, half listening as she brightly informed Greg of his arrival, despite the fact it was fairly obvious. Greg smiled, sat up a little, shifting his distended belly as he did so. The nurse trotted out of the room again. 

"Hi," Greg opened the conversation, his tone a little surprised. 

"I came to see how you were, I didn't think I would actually get in here."

"I presume by that you are on the approved attendants list." 

"That's what the receptionist said. I didn't know I was." 

Greg frowned. "Neither did I. I didn't bother with a list. Mycroft probably did it."

John raised his eyebrows. "Where is he? He's not here?" 

"No, he's not. He won't be." 

"Surely he should be." 

Greg grinned, sitting up a little further, eyes half-closing as he felt the baby shift again, but he stayed smiling. 

"Mycroft? Here? Seriously?" 

"Well he should be. Or is that something that the castes don't do?" 

Greg shrugged. "Basically. But in the case of Mycroft, I think I’d be laughing too much to give birth. The hospitals are never keen to have alphas at birthings. As a general rule alphas can get a little possessive, and anxious, over the omegas. That's why they have authorised attendants, I just didn't think that...."

He paused, looking apologetic. There had been a point he had supposed to write the names of his authorised attendants on one of the many forms he had filled out during his pregnancy, so the hospital could log them. When he had looked at it, it had been too soon after Sherlock's death for him to really think of anyone, so he had left it blank. 

"It was kind of bad timing," Greg said. "They have someone here to do it if there aren't any listed attendants."

"So Mycroft put me down?"

"I wonder if he put in anyone else?" Greg mused. "I can't think of anyone else."

"I wouldn't have thought they allowed humans in." 

"You're not banned from the place," Greg said. "Besides Mycroft no doubt listed you as a latent alpha, which you are."

"But they don't like alphas here." 

"Full-blooded alphas, who get over anxious over their omegas, no. A latent alpha with no familial connection is acceptable, plus I presume he put you down as Dr Watson." 

"Yeah, he did." 

"That'll be...." Greg abruptly stopped talking, inhaling sharply. He leant forward, hands rubbing at his belly as he tried to steady his breathing. By instinct John stepped forward, rubbing one hand up and down Greg's back and taking one of Greg’s hands in the other, trying not to wince as Greg clenched down tightly. 

It took a minute or so for Greg to recover. By which point the nurse had come back into the room. She fussed around Greg for a moment, helping him resettle. 

"That looked a strong one. They are becoming more regular." 

"Great," Greg said. He gave another heavy exhale and settled back, then his eyes widened. "That felt interesting." 

The nurse frowned and moved to the end of the bed to look at the sheets underneath. 

"That would be your waters breaking. We need fresh sheets. I'll be right back."

"And there was me just about to get comfortable," Greg said sarcastically. John grinned. 

"It's going to get worse than that. Can you get up, I'll take the bedding off."

"Not yet," Greg said tensing as another contraction rippled through his body. "Shit!" 

John held him steady as Greg panted his way through the contraction, reaching out at the same time to press the buzzer to call the nurse. 

"That was quick," John said as Greg managed to take a settling breath, slumping back on the bed as the pain subsided. The nurse came running in, several sheets held in her arms. She took one look at Greg, inhaled sharply and clearly knew what was happening. 

“I’ll get the midwife."


	15. The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set just after Sherlock's fall, when Greg is eight months pregnant.

Greg didn't know what the hell to say, but he could hardly avoid speaking. Then again he and Mycroft could go for days without coinciding unless one of them deliberately planned it. More often than not Greg found himself planning it, on the excuse that he should inform Mycroft of developments of the pregnancy, then it just became silly telling him how many times the baby kicked and he was left without much to say at all. And it made him seem like the one thing he had never wanted to be, a clingy omega. But that had nothing to do with this situation, he had to say something. 

The only problem was he felt positively stymied over what to say. Mycroft was as usual in his office, the harsh desk lamp his only illumination, lighting the paperwork on the desk and shadowing his face. It used to make him look intimidating, then Greg changed that to tired; now he just looked haggard. 

Despite the fact his omega instinct urged him to comfort his alpha Greg still hesitated. Neither he nor Mycroft were exactly typical examples of their castes, to overdo that would contradict their personalities. Except for his increasingly habitual behaviour now he was carrying. Greg's hand went down to rub his distended belly, which was becoming a tell for his nerves. At any edgy situation his hand immediately went onto his slowly growing bump, the hint that he was not entirely useless. When he went out now and people scented him, or merely realised what he was he was treated carefully, with a reverence he had not received before. Or a distain. He might have been annoyed by it all but the small life inside him would start kicking and remind him there were more important things than his irritation. 

Currently the baby remained annoyingly still, which meant Greg was on his own when it came to Mycroft, and now he couldn't quietly retreat because Mycroft looked up and saw him. Greg rubbed his stomach and stepped into the room, moving to the side of the desk. Mycroft watched him and then shuffled the papers, putting one on top of the other. Concealing something, but Greg had no inclination to wonder what. 

"Are you all right?" Greg asked.

"I'm fine."

Greg processed that. "You have just lost your brother, John's lost his best friend, I've lost...."

Mycroft looked up at that, staring at Greg sharply and waiting for what he was about to say. For a moment he couldn't really work it out, until a small kick gave him inspiration. 

"Family." 

Mycroft snorted and looked back down at the papers.

"Sherlock is the baby's uncle, was... would have been... Oh, you choose the correct grammar!" 

"That is true, although I doubt he would have ever displayed much interest in the child. And I am perfectly fine." 

"No, you're not," Greg said sitting down in the nearest chair. He was carrying, he could get away with that. 

"That's a double negative, Gregory, which means the opposite of what you are trying to say." 

"Are you really all right?" Greg asked, having no intention of getting into an in depth discussion about his language skills. Instead his voice had turned into his 'police' tone. 

"I am perfectly fine. I am not one for sentiment."

Greg gritted his teeth. "Even for your own brother."

"Even that," Mycroft said without looking up. "It has no point, and only serves to distract from what is important."

Greg blinked, and abruptly stood up. The sharpness of the gesture, caused Mycroft's to jerk his head up. 

"Fine." 

Greg stormed off. 

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

But still he couldn't settle. It upset him, even if Mycroft dismissed it, it was upsetting him. And he didn't like being upset, he felt restless, emotional and all the things a pregnant omega going through a crisis would. He also felt guilty, he didn't stamp down on Donovan and Anderson quickly enough, he hadn't stood up for Sherlock, not hard enough anyway. He hadn't called Mycroft, who could have probably sorted it. And instead of somebody doing something, Sherlock had thrown himself off a building. Although what didn't make sense to Greg was Moriarty dead on the top of the building. Had he done that before or after Sherlock had fallen, had they timed it to do it together, and if Moriarty was dead, why had Sherlock dropped off a building. When had Sherlock cared enough about what other people thought of him to go to the extreme measure of suicide. 

Or maybe Greg hadn't learnt anything about Sherlock. Perhaps he had not been like Mycroft, not feeling anything. But, complicating that, Greg didn't think that Mycroft was that unfeeling, however much he tried to give that impression. 

Greg had never met him before that first interview, when Mycroft had offered him the deal, the omega centre and the caution, wiping Greg's record before it had been written. Greg had received texts, and phone calls, Mycroft introducing himself but announcing that getting too involved in Sherlock's life would be unproductive. He had been little more than a calm, stoic, voice on the end of a phone, or a well phrased, correctly grammered text or email. 

Again, Greg wondered how close of an eye Mycroft had been keeping on him. He had been quick to pick him up when Greg had admitted himself to the omega centre to be tested, prodded and then matched to a compatible alpha. Mycroft could have concluded he was compatible long before the situation had presented itself. 

Mycroft hadn't left the study in the two hours that Greg had watched some television, restlessly paced, had a bath, tried to sleep and then contemplated his life, Mycroft had stayed working. Which was probably no good for him, but Greg had, in those two hours, worked out a way to get Mycroft to at least lie down. 

His opening line as he returned to the study was really not him at his best. Still, it made Mycroft's eyes widen. 

"Of all the omegas you could have gone and picked, what the hell did I have?" 

Mycroft didn't look shocked for long, he put his pen down, lowered the screen of his laptop and sat back. 

"Most of the omegas that are encountered are female, and quite young when they wish to be paired with an alpha."

Greg's ears had almost blocked at the female, until Mycroft carried on. 

"They expect things, as if they are indulging in a romance, such things occur but they are hardly practical to ensure the breeding lines."

Greg had slowly sat down on the chair he had used earlier. His hand rubbed over his stomach again. He supposed he was ensuring his own breeding line as well as Mycroft's. He hadn't thought of it like that at the beginning. He became more aware of that fact as he had felt the baby grow. 

"People bond," he told Mycroft. 

"Casual meetings and romantic entanglements are not a reliable basis. And believe it or not the situation you were in was not in any way of relevance to the decision."

"Except there was probably no other way to get me into a contract."

"However, it was not the reason you were given the deal to wipe your record. Losing you from the force would result in no one tolerating Sherlock. You were the first to do so, and encouraged others to do the same. It would have cut him off from that line of work, something which I doubt would have done Sherlock any good."

"It didn't exactly do him any good."

Mycroft eyed Greg steadily. "Sherlock's choices were his own, as were your colleagues. The situation will be rectified, there is enough evidence to clear Sherlock's name. A good number of people are going to look very embarrassed."

Greg sat up slightly at the last sentence, as the flickers of anger increased, Mycroft's voice lowered, the alpha aggression rising to the surface. He could have pointed out that they were only following procedure, but something else in the conversation caught his attention; plus Mycroft could easily refute the argument. 

"How did you even know I was going back to work? Any alpha that chose me would have to allow that." 

"That was in hand. Should it have been anyone else it would have been put into your contract. I however thought the opportunity was worthwhile taking, the facts hinted that the time between your heats was shortening, a sure sign of when an omega is at their prime for breeding. It does in fact tend to occur later in males, but by that point they have generally been overlooked."

"Okay," Greg said. 

"And the simple reason I picked you was I had a desire to further my familial breeding line, as Sherlock was never likely to uphold any responsibility for it. And you were independent, suspicious of my motives, and logical enough that I would not have to indulge in any sort of sentimental bonding rituals." 

Greg shrugged, he had to accept the logic of that. He slowly stood up, holding his heavy belly. Mycroft's gaze drifted towards it, until Greg answered him. 

"People bond whether they are putting any effort into it or not. And unfortunately I can't seem to sleep on my own, and I'm tired, so you are going to have to put up with me being sentimental." 

Quite surprisingly Mycroft acquiesced to the request without a word. He turned off his laptop, locked the papers away in the safe and turned off the desk lamp within a minute, before guiding Greg from the study and upstairs, at which point Mycroft took them both to his room. Clambering into the bed Greg inhaled deeply, picking up the alpha's ingrained scent, while he waited for Mycroft. 

As the alpha joined him and they lay in the dark Mycroft's voice announced. 

"As you could have simply come in here to pick up my scent as a way of soothing yourself I am aware that you are emotionally blackmailing me to try and get me to rest." 

Greg didn't shift from his position tucked up close to Mycroft. 

"Good for you," he said. "Now go to sleep."


	16. The Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we are back to just after Greg's given birth.

Greg looked down at the sleeping baby with awe. He couldn’t help but keep doing so, feeling quite surprised by what he had managed to do. Although he felt tired he couldn’t seem to sleep, so instead he just watched the baby, while he slept contentedly. 

“Are you still gawping?” the young omega nurse on night duty asked. She was a merry girl in her early twenties, with a Scottish lilt to her accent. 

“Yep,” Greg told her. 

She came into the room to peer at the baby. “Daddy should take a leaf out of your book. The little one should sleep for a bit longer, although he’ll be due a feed soon. You could probably get an hour or so until then.” 

“I know, but I can’t,” Greg said. 

The nurse reached over and started to arrange the already perfectly arranged bedding. 

“If you need anything let me know. Your alpha not been yet?” 

“No, he’ll wait until it’s quiet,” Greg said. She nodded, being an omega herself she knew the way it worked. Mycroft was, however, taking his time. It wasn’t bothering Greg that much, knowing the alpha the way he did, and at least Greg had proved himself worthwhile. Not that his self-esteem revolved around that one facet of his life. 

“Quiet enough now,” she said as she finished with the pillows. “Probably be the morning though, I guess.” 

“Probably,” Greg said eyeing the sleeping baby again. The nurse chuckled. 

“I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything just ring.” 

“Thanks.” 

He did attempt to sleep, but in the end he knew it was unlikely. Easing himself onto his side he rested his head on the pillow and fixed his eyes on the cot at the side of the bed, closing his eyes intermittently. 

He didn’t know if he had slept for a few minutes or not, but he heard a light tread. 

“I’m trying,” he said, assuming it was the nurse again. 

“I would suggest you have actually succeeded,” Mycroft’s voice announced. 

Greg opened his eyes and looked towards the doorway. He shifted onto his back again, slowly sitting up, moving carefully so as not to jolt his sore body. 

“Were you trying to visit while I was sleeping?” 

Mycroft took that as an invitation and moved into the room. Greg figured that Mycroft would treat this occasion as traditionally as possible, he didn’t get anywhere near the baby until Greg gave him permission. The omega parent he had every right to reject the alpha’s attention as much as the alpha could reject the omega's offspring. Given the way modern arrangements were set up for breeding such an outcome was unlikely but Mycroft tended to do things as he thought they ought to be done, and he did like a tradition. 

“I hadn’t given that much thought, I merely wished to avoid….” 

“As many people as possible,” Greg finished for him. 

“By all accounts things went smoothly.” Mycroft gave the cot a tentative glance. Greg gave a slight smile. 

“Tell that to my birth canal.” 

Mycroft visibly cringed.

“But yes. No problems, although it transpires that despite my ability to birth I don’t lactate heavily.”

That brought Mycroft’s gaze away from the sleeping baby to Greg, eyes fixing on his torso. 

“I suspected as much. John attended you?” 

“Why is that a question? You no doubt already know that.” 

“I do.” 

“You put him on the list.” 

“As there was no one I wasn’t sure if that was deliberate or an oversight.” 

“You didn’t think to ask me?” 

Mycroft looked up, eyeing Greg carefully. “You have been a little… snappish of late. I elected it was better not to.” 

“That’s likely to make me even more snappish. But thank you. And he seemed all right, thank you for asking.” 

Mycroft’s shoulders shifted. “I keep an eye on John.” 

“Why don’t you just phone him once in a while?” Greg asked.

“Because we are not exactly close, he was Sherlock’s flatmate.” 

“And his best friend.” 

“He was just Sherlock’s friend,” Mycroft corrected. “His only one.” 

“Hey, what the hell was I then?” 

There was an answer to that, but Mycroft clearly, before it reached his mouth, worked out that it was not something he should announce. Instead he looked back down to Greg’s torso. 

“You will presumably need to bottle feed.” 

“I’m producing a little,” Greg said, deciding not to tell Mycroft about how strange that was. In actual fact Greg felt slightly glad he didn’t lactate heavily, that was another thing he decided not to tell Mycroft. “The midwife said it might increase, and if….” 

Again, adding that when he had a second child he was likely to produce more than the first time was not something he intended to bring up with Mycroft. They had only just got through having this child, never mind either of them deciding to commit further by breeding again. Greg looked up as the baby gave a murmur, then a cry. 

“Speaking of which.” Greg shifted slightly, sitting up higher and he held out his arms. “Can you give me the baby?” 

“You mean pick it up?” Mycroft looked alarmed. Greg frowned and reaching over pressed the buzzer to call the nurse. 

“Him! Yes, Mycroft. Just support his head and…” 

The baby interrupted again, this time louder, and more persistent. The nurse had obviously been nearby as she appeared within a minute of Greg pressing the buzzer. 

“Hi, oh, he’s probably hungry,” she said over the crying. 

“Can you pass him over?” 

The nurse gave Mycroft a curious look. 

“Sure, like this.” 

She very carefully picked up the baby. Mycroft watched intently no doubt storing the information, although Greg got the feeling Mycroft would remain reluctant at the beginning. The expression on the alpha’s face intensified as the nurse helped Greg unfasten the front of his gown to allow the baby to take what he could. 

“I’ll get a bottle ready,” she said once they had the child suckling. 

Greg didn’t answer, neither did Mycroft, the look in his eye started to range to feral; into the expression he developed when he smelt Greg’s hormones, as his body changed. It had made Mycroft increasingly possessive, without him realising. 

“Mycroft,” Greg’s stern voice snapped him out of his contemplation. Mycroft blinked, and seemed to let his shoulders suddenly relax.

"I apologise." 

Greg smirked. "I told John there was good reason you wouldn't be present at the birth." 

"Presumably John did not understand my absence." 

"I told him there was good reason," Greg reiterated. "I've had to intervene sometimes when the police were called, over stressed out alphas. It tends to go to the first omega officer they can find. Which often seemed to be me." 

"You've arrested them?" 

"Never got that serious. It was just a case of me having more authority than the nurses and be omega enough to calm them. The last time was when I was six months pregnant, so it was an easy clear up." 

Mycroft huffed, he eyed the baby again, looking almost baffled. Greg smirked. 

"And if nothing else, the thought of you here, just made me laugh. You do really make me laugh at times. And when I'm trying to give birth should not be one of those moments." 

"I'm glad to know I am a source of amusement for you." 

"Good, it occurs frequently; between you and Sher-" Greg stopped dead and looked up. "Sorry." 

Mycroft shrugged. "It's not a subject that can be avoided."

Greg still felt a stirring of guilt for bringing it up. Over the last month Sherlock's name had hardly been mentioned. Although Mycroft had cleared his brother's name and Greg had not been surprised at the sudden resignation of some of the senior officers involved in the arrests and smear campaign. It was only Greg's association with them that had saved Donovan and Anderson. Anderson was off the wall with guilt anyway. 

"Here we go," the nurse announced as she wandered back in with the bottle. She hesitated, sensing the slight atmosphere, but her smile soon returned and she brought the bottle to Greg. Again she helped him get the baby latched onto the bottle before discreetly exiting the room.

"I suppose now we need to think about names. I suppose... Sherlock... is a bit too obvious, or morbid... maybe, if you see what I mean. You don't want to name him after you, do you?" 

"Definitely not," Mycroft said. 

"Okay, but I don't..." 

"William," Mycroft said. "Sherlock didn't have just the one name. William would be slightly less, morbid."

"William Holmes," Greg said looking at the feeding baby, trying out the name. Mycroft assessed the scene for a moment before adding. 

"William Gregory Holmes." 

Greg brought his head up. "Really? Are you sure?" 

"I believe you put more work into the endeavour than I did. Although he needs to take my family name I do not see why your input should be ignored." 

Greg smirked at the phrasing. He looked down at the baby again. "I suppose we also need to think about testing, DNA, just to check." 

"I fail to see the necessity. The odds lie in my favour regarding paternity, I do not believe Sherlock's intervention during your heat would result in pregnancy. I remain the dominant factor, and over 99% likely to be the father. And even with the remaining percentage William is still of the Holmes line. I think the quibble is ridiculous. Do you honestly believe Sherlock has a chance?"

"Not really," Greg said. "I suppose as long as he doesn't start to look like Sherlock I'm sure there is nothing to worry about." 

Mycroft moved closer, staring down at the baby. 

"I do rather hope he has your eyes." 

The words slowly worked their way into Greg's brain, he had been so busy staring at the feeding baby he didn’t register them for a minute or so, when he did his head jerked up at he stared at Mycroft with wide eyes. Mycroft looked unsurprised by the reaction and answered in a way that told Greg, he had put some thought into it.

“I think I would like that."


	17. The Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's first outing and Greg and Mycroft seem to agree on something.

Greg was finally getting used to dealing with the baby. Mycroft had spared no expense when he came to the nursery. Or rather he hadn't complained at what Greg had wanted to put in there. If Mycroft had bought anything himself, probably ordered via Anthea, it had been a good quality label. He would have probably preferred to have had someone professional decorate the nursery as well, but Greg had insisted on doing it himself. 

"You're carrying." Had been Mycroft's only objection. 

"That doesn't make me incapable of putting up some wallpaper and building a bit of furniture," Greg told him. "John and Sally are coming over to help."

Mycroft had looked uncertain at that but had said nothing and made sure he was working at the office over those three days. Sherlock attended with John; he looked confused, sniped at Sally and got rather irate helping build furniture, especially when he used all the parts. 

"I thought there were always bits left over," he had announced in sulky disappointment. 

"That's if you do it wrong," John had said. Sherlock frowned. 

"Why would you do that?" Sherlock asked, putting the finishing touches to a small dresser. 

"No one does that on purpose," Greg said. "It just happens."

Greg finished changing Will on the mat on top of said Sherlock constructed dresser. He had worked out his own method of dealing with everything and he felt quite happy with it. All things considered Greg felt, two and a half months in, that he was coping admirably. His smile faded at that thought, as it reminded him that one person who wasn't was John. His communication over that time had been sporadic, and relied on Greg making the opening move. Unfortunately since Will's birth he had been a little busy. 

Now, he had a sort of plan in mind. John seemed to have cut himself off from everything to do with Sherlock, even going so far as to move into a bedsit so he wasn't at Baker Street. Although Greg didn't feel entirely confident of his plan he felt like a little bit of human company, and getting out of the house for a few hours. Will lay on the mat, little hands grabbing at his raised legs. While he was distracted Greg reached for his phone. Will's hands grappled to latch onto his leg and he stared up with wide, awe-filled eyes. 

"Hi!" Donovan said in surprise as she answered the phone. "How are you? How's the baby?" 

"Will's fine. Debating the wonders of his left foot," Greg said, tickling the bottom of said foot. It broke Will's concentration and he waved his arms and legs again, gurgling at Greg. He reached his hand out to let Will grapple with it while he carried on talking. 

"I wanted to ask a favour, I know I'm on leave, but I wanted to come and sort through a few things... of Sherlock's. I don't know if John would want them, or something." 

There was a pause before Sally answered him. "Okay, but..." 

Greg started to frown, he knew that tone of voice and he wondered what sort of job she had in mind, probably clearing up the coffee machine, or filing papers. They were clearly making a hash of everything again. 

"... Bring the baby!"

"Oh," Greg said. Will wriggled again, whining a little, starting to wonder why Greg wasn't picking him up. He was used to the close contact of his omega parent, which was, Greg had been told before Will's birth and now knew was true, important for the bonding process. "Okay, sure." 

"Great! When?" 

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Greg arranged it for the Friday. Mycroft had looked quite puzzled over Greg's plans but said nothing. He was learning to do that, which Greg appreciated. They also vaguely arranged to meet each other when Greg was done, which would coincide with when Mycroft intended to finish work. 

Once Greg had taken himself into the building he debated the wisdom of his plan, various parts of it. Until he reached the briefing room. 

Even DI Dimmock was finding his briefing boring, so he felt quite glad when DS Donovan turned her head and caused a complete distraction by gasping in delight. 

"Oh my God, he's so cute!" 

Dimmock easily assumed she meant the baby and not Greg, although most of the female officers had been fussing over Greg during his last few weeks before he went on leave. Under the cloud of Sherlock's death he had started his leave a week early. The fact that Greg hadn't made a fuss over his alpha's insistence that he stop, directly after that disaster, was an indication of just how rattled Greg had been. 

Now he looked bemused as the meeting fell apart and Sally wangled her way through to be the first to get to the baby. Greg watched the jostling with some amusement. It was also the moment that Will decided to wake up. His eyes widened at the sudden sight of new people and he could clearly smell the strangeness of the environment. 

Greg put the carrier down on the nearest surface and Will's eyes lifted to stare at him. Then the baby turned at the movement as Sally and two other female officers came to stare at him. Will's eyes regarded them and then drifted back to Greg, wanting to locate him. Greg could see the little hitching breaths as Will attempted to locate a familiar scent. As he was the only thing, he unfastened the straps and lifted Will out. He felt his son relax immediately as he picked up the reassuring scent. 

"All right, meeting new people 101," Greg informed his son. Will drooled slightly, and stayed relaxed as Greg shifted him in his arms so he could look around. The three female officers looked ridiculously enamoured. 

"Oh, he is gorgeous!" 

"Can I hold him?" Donovan asked, clearly determined to claim first go, giving the other two women a warning glare. 

"Sure," Greg said. "I'm not sure how he'll take it, he's only really seen me and Mycroft... and John... a bit." 

He really wasn't sure how Will would react, but as he passed him over, he kept his hand near Will. His son's eyes remained fixed on him, but then he turned to look up at Sally, regarding her for a moment, then he seemed to decide she was fine and gave her a random smile, but Will's eyes drifted back to Greg. Greg gave his tummy a quick, reassuring tickle, which made Will giggle, and the women coo in delight. Will turned his wide eyes back up towards them, and gave another bright smile. 

After that he became quite amiable over being passed from person to person, as long as Greg made his presence felt every so often. After every third person Greg took his son back, held him for a moment before passing him on. He didn't know if that seemed strange, no one seemed annoyed by it, but Will took it as settling. 

It stretched to every forth person. Will remained happy and looked for Greg, and when he seriously started to search, Greg took him in hand, let Will feel settled in the familiar arms, take in his scent and feel reassured before he let someone else have him. He even ended up giving him over to DI Dimmock. 

"So, if you want to bring New Scotland Yard to a halt, you bring a baby," Dimmock noted as he rocked Will gently. Greg jumped and looked at him, then looked around. 

"I guess. I suppose it's like if aliens wanted to invade, they should come as cute fluffy bunnies." 

Will smiled up at Dimmock and drooled, and then the DI grimaced. 

"Cute fluffy bunnies don't..." 

"Oh, yeah," Greg lifted Will high enough to get it. "I'm sure they do, it's just not contained in a nappy. I'll just change him and then have a look through the stuff that I came to tidy." 

"It's all still where you left it. No one touched it, I know you were just doing it before your paternity leave and then.... well... I'm sorry, about Sherlock. He was a.... he... did a good job." 

Greg smiled. "Thanks. He might have even taken that as a compliment." 

Will screwed up his face and gave a whimper. 

"Sorry, better do that and I'll get the stuff at the same time." 

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"Did you acquire what you needed?" Mycroft asked as Will went to sleep between them, rocking gently in his car seat. 

"No," Greg said. "I left it all in Donovan's drawer. I don't think John is ready for it just yet." 

"Were you?" 

Greg turned to look at Mycroft, who looked as impassive as ever, which meant nothing really, he had asked the question, so he wanted to know. 

"Yes, I think so. It didn't hurt. I know I should think something more of him than him being a work colleague but I didn't know any more."

"As in family?" 

"Yes. Sherlock is never going to know his nephew, I don't want Will to not know who Sherlock is." 

“I dare say John will assist with that,” Mycroft said. Greg waited a moment and then spoke up himself. 

“John’s fine." 

"I presumed that, since you would have raised any concerns immediately. I do keep abreast of some of John's activities." 

"You could call on him, rather than spying."

"I do not believe we have ever had that kind of relationship, however, should William wish to know anything about his uncle, I will be more than willing to tell him." 

Greg's mouth managed to lift up into a smile. "I know what he was like, but please, make it a little bit flattering." 

"Quite frankly, I think that is where the danger lies." 

"Are we agreeing to disagree on this?" Greg asked. 

Mycroft sat back, took hold of Will's hand, looking down at his son and then back up at the omega that produced him and said. 

"As we often do."


	18. The Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the first in a two part segment. The next chapter will follow on directly from this. (When I've written it ;-))

Greg looked across the room, surveying it from his position in the corner, where he was nursing a glass of champagne, wondering why the hell Mycroft had insisted he attended. He shifted uncomfortably in the suit - one that Mycroft had bought for the occasion - realising that since Will's birth he had not worn anything remotely formal. Jeans, tee-shirts and jogging bottoms had been the order of the many days that Will had been in his life. 

Now he had left Will in the care of Mrs Hudson and Sally, at Baker Street, while Mycroft had brought him to the most boring party in history. Most of the people worked as Government officials, or were linked to the Government in some way, and quite clearly what was going on in this room was networking and unofficial talks about serious issues. Conversations had tailed off when Greg had gone past, and he had been introduced with an undertone. Several alphas had moved closer to sniff him with interest, but once they picked up Mycroft's scent mingled with his they were politely making excuses and disappearing off. 

To pass the very slowly moving time Greg had tucked himself in a corner and watched what was going on, particularly what was going on around Mycroft. He seemed to be the unobtrusive centre of everything. Greg pulled his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it. It hadn't buzzed all night. He had been so nervous of leaving Will, and on the flip side Will hadn't cared, he had been far more interested in the book that Sally had brought that made noises when you pressed the buttons on the edge. He had all the comforting smells around him, and he knew Mrs Hudson, and he had Bee and the blanket that Greg left with him when he put Will in his cot and, it was fine. His baby was fine, but he asked anyway. 

'Sleeping now, bit fractious but settled. Have fun.'

The text came back and Greg gritted his teeth. He guessed the first sentence, although on Sally's phone, was quoting Mrs Hudson. Either one of them might have put in the second and the smiley face that came on a second text left Greg wondering if he could coerce Mycroft into getting Sally Donovan trapped on desk duty, under a mountain of paperwork, for an unending amount of time. 

A laugh made him look up sharply and his eyes narrowed as he looked across the room. He had met the omega in question, had been introduced and then he had been dismissed by her. Gregory had taken it politely, she was clearly high-powered in the social circle that he had just been dumped in, and he had to take it, unless he wanted to fight the smartly dressed, doll-like woman. Now he suddenly realised why he had been dismissed by her, as she preened at Mycroft. 

To be fair, Mycroft didn't respond, but also didn't reject the woman, who was trying to hint she was available to him. She knew full well Mycroft had contracted him, and he had been bred successfully, so what the hell was she playing at!

Greg felt a surge of anger as he stood and watched. He didn't move while he noted that Mycroft seemed to be scanning the room while trying to be polite to her. Greg wondered what the hell the alpha was looking for until a voice commented from what seemed to be out of nowhere. 

"She's got more obvious lately. Technically, since she heard about Will."

He turned to glare at Anthea, who was busy staring at her phone. 

"And?" 

"I normally have to tell him about a very important phone call he needs to take. Just at a highly inconvenient moment, for her at least." 

"So tell him!" 

Anthea looked up, and she looked annoyingly smug. "I believe you might give the situation a stronger conclusion. It could account for your presence; when has he ever brought you to one of his social events before?" 

"Why does Mycroft never tell anyone what he wants?!" Greg snapped, almost to himself, sometimes there was never any point in thinking you were talking to Mycroft's PA. 

Anthea had gone back to her Blackberry, but as she turned away she answered with a distracted tone. 

"You'd probably be better asking him that." 

Greg swigged his champagne as he watched the woman by Mycroft tilt her head in invitation, at his bloody alpha! Yes, it was true the contract they had was more convenience than attraction and desire but she should know better, but as she was also, occasionally, scanning the room, as Mycroft was. So, she was looking for someone, while Mycroft did the same thing. Greg downed his champagne and started to move across the room. 

He didn't realise, they were looking for the same person. 

As he moved up behind them, he decided what was wrong, he took another glass of champagne as he passed a waiter and drank that swiftly, put it down on another tray and picked up a full glass. He drank this one a little more carefully, realising he was starting to feel a little drunk, a sensation he hadn't felt in a long while. Then he started to skirt the room again, watching as the woman pressed herself against Mycroft, and again he didn't push her away. He hesitated. Was this about something else, he wondered. 

Was Mycroft trying to tell him something, that he wanted something else in an omega. 

That was stupid! Greg yelled internally. Mycroft had contracted him, they were tied into a contract that would not release until Will was four. If Mycroft was trying something underhand Greg could have him for breakfast, and any other meal going. You didn't just dump the omega looking after your child. It would go against everything that Greg knew about Mycroft, who took the conventions of their castes very seriously. 

And Greg came to a standstill, and thought; while trying not to drink champagne. 

He failed on the drinking part, but not the thinking aspect. There seemed to be an awful lot of waiters wanting to give him champagne; not that he minded, the drunken edge to his thoughts was decidedly pleasant. He downed the one he was currently drinking, located another and then moved in. He went round to the side and went forward. 

"There you are," Greg said, his voice amazingly pleasant, as if he was not utterly pissed off about some silly omega presenting at his alpha, and his alpha letting her. However, the interruption was enough to startle Mycroft, causing him to turn, which pushed the woman away from him slightly. Greg used that tiny gap to ease his way to Mycroft's side, giving the omega a slight shove and pressing himself against Mycroft in a way that Greg never thought he ever would. Mycroft's eyes ran from startled to panicked to controlled in a few seconds, and only Greg, meeting his gaze would have noticed it. Greg smiled at him pleasantly. Mycroft's eyes flickered with mild panic again, but his hand pressed against Greg's back. 

"Ah, Gregory, there you are. I thought I'd lost you." 

"No chance," Greg muttered at him, so only Mycroft would hear him. He allowed Mycroft to turn him positioning him so he was facing the rest of the nearby group, and also ensuring that Greg was between him and the female omega. Greg found him meeting a pair of furious, glittering, dark eyes. He looked down at her, shifting his body so he was slightly facing her and blocking her from Mycroft. Her eyes narrowed, Greg glared back. Mycroft continued his conversation with the man opposite him in the small circle of people, his hand moving lightly on Greg's back, easing up to his neck, in a clear gesture of trying to smooth down Greg's hackles. As he ended what he was saying he added to the man. 

"Have you met my omega, Gregory Lestrade?" 

It meant Greg had to turn back to the group, but this time he positioned himself differently, angling himself towards Mycroft, and putting his back towards the woman. That was a clear enough signal, a screaming one in fact. He pressed against Mycroft and lowered his head as Mycroft touched his neck again. His submissive posture would sit well with the people that Mycroft knew the room, but his assertive claim, freezing out the woman, meant he was sure of Mycroft's affection. 

The situation seemed almost surreal. He could hardly say he and Mycroft had the most conventional start, even though Mycroft took all the formal arrangements very seriously. Now they appeared to be projecting a very serious image, considering the fact that about five minutes ago Greg had been sulking in the corner. 

Greg shook hands with the man, whose name Mycroft had just mentioned and refused to linger in Greg's brain. His hand was held for slightly longer than polite and the man inhaled deeply as he inclined towards Greg, smiling at him as his eyes ran up and down Greg in appreciation. And the sixth waiter in thirty minutes offered Greg some more champagne. Since there were more than a few pairs of eyes on him he took another glass politely but simply held it in his hands. He gave Mycroft a baffled look. Mycroft leant in, looking casual, but he said. 

"Your scent level has increased, all the waiters are alphas, you are the most attractive thing in the room."

Greg blinked and controlled his panicked urge to look round and assess who might be looking at him. Mycroft's hand, working a gentle circle on his back, helped to settle him. 

"I have stayed as long as is needed, I know you are anxious to get back to William." 

Mycroft lifted his voice slightly at the end, so the reason he was leaving would be entirely acceptable. Greg tried to glower at him, but found he couldn't as Mycroft manoeuvred their positions, so he could address the silly, annoying, omega. 

"Do accept my apologies Lady Cressendan," Mycroft said. The woman composed herself and reached out to shake Mycroft's hand. Greg didn't want to come into physical contact with her, he still felt too irritated. Mycroft had the sense to realise that, shifting Greg so it wasn't necessary. One thing alphas never liked to see was rival omegas reacting to each other. Greg realised he had at least kept it to an acceptable minimum, and he had every right to stake his claim on Mycroft.

"Do excuse us," Mycroft said taking Greg's arm to escort him out. Greg halted him partway across the room, drunk the last glass of champagne and handed his glass to a waiter. 

"Thank you." 

Then he did a double take as he looked properly and realised he recognised the alpha. The security operative gave Greg a wink before Mycroft pushed Greg on. 

"The waiters are SAS?"

"Of course, I needed more than a basic level of security in the room, and how do you make them unobtrusive?" 

"Make them part of the expected landscape," Greg said. "What is going on in here that needs that sort of thing?" 

Mycroft exhaled, not exactly heavily, but it was obvious. "You don't want to know." 

"That just means you aren't going to tell me." 

"That also." 

"So, what's with your admirer? I doubt you needed that much security to prevent me from slapping her." Greg relaxed a little as they moved down a flight of stairs and Mycroft stopped steering him so much. 

"Lady Cressendan has quite regularly expressed an interest in being my omega. She invariably hints at her own attributes and to mine."

"Really?" 

"Do you not concur that I provide a stable environment, act according to my caste and honour the agreement we have both entered into, as required for the omega I choose and the offspring produced from that pairing,." 

Greg thought about that. He had read the contract from beginning to end; thoroughly. Mycroft followed what he promised to the letter. 

"As the omega who walked into such a contract I suppose I do concur," Greg conceded, then added. "Even if I'm permanently irritated by it." 

"Judging by the reactions in that room you are quite magnificent when you are irritated," Mycroft took the lead, heading down the stairs to the car. 

"Do you concur with that?" Greg muttered sarcastically and loudly, it appeared, as Mycroft's voice came back to him. 

"I do." 

Greg rolled his eyes and followed Mycroft to the car.


	19. The Car

Mycroft waited by the car as Greg made his way down the stairs. He had to take it slowly, the champagne made his head spin a little. He hadn't drunk anything for well over a year, longer than that he realised as he suddenly started to calculate. Alcohol had been a no-no while pregnant. Now Will was four months, and he hadn't drunk though that either. There had also been the miscarriage, Greg thought in shock, so that added more time to the total. He had almost forgotten it. With everything else going on in his life, including the loss of Sherlock, Greg had almost forgotten that. 

How could he have done that? he asked himself. It didn't pain him anymore. There were reasons for what happened and he could cope with it, but he hadn't just wanted to let it pass out of his mind. Nor did he really think it was healthy to dwell on it. 

He was basically drunk, and couldn't organise his thoughts properly. He slouched back in the car and eased his tie from under his collar, yanking the knot undone. As he let it drift onto the seat Mycroft gathered it up, carefully folding the material and sliding it into his inside pocket. Greg lay back and closed his eyes, pleased to be out of the party and glad to be alone with Mycroft. 

His eyes opened and he stared up at the roof of the limousine, wondering where that thought had manifested from. It was then he noticed that he had latched his hand onto Mycroft's wrist in a possessive gesture. 

Mycroft hadn't reacted other than to allow his arm to drift across the seat and be held onto. He had his mobile in his other hand and he quickly fired off a text before tucking his phone away and turning his attention to Greg. 

"Would you like a drink?" 

Greg glanced at the mini-bar and smirked at Mycroft. 

"Are you trying to get me drunk? Or at least keep me drunk?" 

"If the inference of that is for me to have my wicked way with you I hardly need alcohol for that," Mycroft said smoothly. 

Greg frowned, then smirked. "Are you trying to flirt with me?" 

"I believe I am succeeding," Mycroft said looking down at their hands on the seat. Greg's fingertips were gently massaging Mycroft's wrist. Greg paused what he was doing and Mycroft momentarily extracted his hand, reaching to the mini-bar to pour Greg, and himself, a drink. 

"I haven't had sex since my reactionary heat, when I conceived," Greg commented calmly. 

"No," Mycroft said handing Greg a drink. Greg gulped and gave a cough at the burn of alcohol. 

"How much did you put in that?" 

"Enough," Mycroft said. 

"Enough for me to be passed out, I think." 

"Enough to calm you for an adequate length of time. I think you are easing back into your heat cycle." 

Greg sat back and resumed his grip on Mycroft, getting hold of his arm again and working his fingers under his shirt cuff. Mycroft moved his hand to twine his fingers with Greg's.

"You could have told me." 

Mycroft frowned. "What?" 

"The reason for taking me to the party, to protect you from that silly woman." 

"I cannot afford to offend that 'silly woman', at least not directly."

"But you can through me. You could have told me that was what you wanted." 

"Would you have behaved as magnificently if you were performing rather than reacting?"

"I was magnificent?" Greg asked, trying not to feel overly pleased by the praise. 

"Very, I think every alpha in the room wanted you by the time you were finished."

"I wasn't aiming for that."

"I know that," Mycroft said sounding as pleased as Mycroft could ever manage. 

"But you liked it."

"I have a highly desirably omega who has produced a child. Until now many of my peers were not convinced that you even existed."

"It was a shock for them then? Especially Lady Cressenden." 

"Most especially," Mycroft agreed.

Greg shifted as close as the seatbelt would allow and Mycroft tightened his grip. Greg looked around as the car slowed down and he recognised the familiar sights of Baker Street. 

"You're probably best carrying Will," Greg told Mycroft. 

"Yes, I would think so. You stay here, Sally can bring the bag down."

Greg couldn't really muster up an argument. He stayed in the car, part of him feeling horrified that he wasn't rushing to get back to Will. Then again his son was perfectly safe, Mycroft was collecting him and Greg was starting to feel a deep warmth stirring in his navel, and a light cramping of his pelvic muscles. He knew the first warning signs of heat, he just hadn't felt them for a while. The last time had been the overwhelming reactionary heat when he had conceived Will, having sex with Mycroft, and Sherlock, although the less said about that the better. Mycroft never mentioned it, and had never been concerned by it. Sherlock had acted in Greg's best interests. 

It said something for Mycroft's confidence that he would dismiss any hint that he might not be Will's father. Will looked so like Greg that it probably didn't matter anyway. Mycroft liked Greg's features. 

"Sir?"

Greg looked up at Sally as she put Will's bag into the car and she smiled at him. 

"Are you all right?" 

"Yeah, bit drunk. Is Will okay?" 

"Sleeping like a... well... baby," she said with a shrug. "He's bringing him down."

Greg looked at her, slightly sympathetically. She didn't know quite what to do with herself around Mycroft. Sally felt partially responsible for Sherlock's death and Mycroft, in the face of that, seemed a rather intimidating character. It made Greg wonder how Mycroft had handled the situation following Sherlock's death. His name had been cleared, and there had to have been some sort of investigation, but Greg had been kept so out of the loop from that point. Sally had kept her job, so the blame had not been put directly on her. 

"Are you all right?" Greg asked, putting the question back to her. She shrugged. 

"Yeah, up for promotion. I applied after Dimmock said I should, after... well you know... I didn't think I would get anywhere."

"You followed procedure."

"You always said procedure was what you needed when what you should do failed."

Greg blinked. "What should you have done then?"

The question didn't get answered. Sally was gone and Mycroft put Will into the car. Greg looked down at his son, sleeping soundly. He only stirred as Mycroft buckled the baby carrier in. 

"He'll settle again, he likes the car," Greg said as he put his hand out to tickle his son's belly and Mycroft made a light admonishing sound. It didn't take long after the car started moving for Will to doze off. Greg raised his head and glowered at Mycroft. 

"Did you thank them?" 

"Naturally, and I gave Mrs Hudson something in lieu of using her house." 

Greg frowned. "How much did you give her?" He blinked as Mycroft told him. 

"That's a month's rent. I don't think you need to give her that."

"I thought it was fair enough, she cannot rent the space out at the moment."

"Does paying Sherlock's rent make you feel better?" Greg took a breath. "Don't answer that, it's an extremely rude question."

"It is. However, it is quite true, and I will continue to pay the rent, for as long as I see fit."

"Because it makes you feel better?" 

"Yes, plus it also conserves Sherlock's space while letting me deal with his experiments, all of which are still in progress."

"You are a sad man who doesn't want to let him go, like the rest of us."

"No, I'd just prefer that his experiments were not unleashed."

"So you're paying his rent?"

"Simply, yes. Mrs Hudson will not let the rooms to anyone else... sentimentality. If John had stayed I would have helped if payments were..." 

"Whatever," Greg said, interrupting him. "You're right." 

"You don't say that to me very often." 

"I'm saying it now and I don't care. I agree with you, but that could be the symptoms of heat having an affect on me. You timed taking me to that party quite well." 

"Actually that might be the other way round. Exposure to alpha's is known to trigger the first heat after a period of dormancy, and you reacted to a challenge."

"Huh?" Greg said, sitting back and closing his eyes. The waves of heat in his belly were increasing. He relaxed even further as Mycroft ran his fingertips over Greg's hair. 

"I think perhaps we need to settle Will swiftly, then deal with you."

"Sounds good," Greg agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The heat scene will follow.


	20. The Intimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consensual sex in this chapter, might run onto the next, if you want me to do so.... say yey or ney ;-)

Will settled easily in his cot and Greg did the same in Mycroft's bed. The alpha returned from bushing his teeth to find a naked Greg very much at home in his bed, and appearing to try and take over the entire space as he stretched out, clearly taking in Mycroft's scent embedded in the fabric. Mrs Phillips usually washed them on a Monday. Mycroft made a mental note to call her and tell her not to come into work at least until Wednesday. That gave Mycroft four clear days with Greg, just in case his heat lingered. Greg picked up the increase in scent as Mycroft stood in the doorway, he looked up and frowned. 

"Who are you on the phone to?" 

Mycroft ended the call. "Just ensuring the purpose of the party had been achieved." 

"It wasn't just for me then?" Greg said rolling over. Mycroft dropped his phone onto the dressing table and eased off his robe trying not to catch sight of himself in the mirror, he wouldn't like what he saw. 

"You're perfectly fine," Greg said, instantly realising what Mycroft was doing, which of course made Mycroft look and run a hand tentatively over his belly, tensing his muscles to pull his stomach in. 

"I could still lose some weight. And no it wasn't, however you did leave a room full of horny alphas, and one rather frustrated omega."

"She's surrounded by the horny alphas," Greg mused. "And no you couldn't. I know you and Sherlock were competitive but I think trying to outdo each other in the thinness department was stupid." 

"He just forgets to eat," Mycroft said, then his eyes darted sideways, in mild alarm. Greg raised his head, but thanks to the alcohol he had consumed he was oblivious to the slip. 

"And he fainted occasionally. And he forgot, you do it on purpose, I don't know which is worse and don't give me his transport line, that is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. For someone with his IQ he was infernally idiotic." 

Greg lowered his eyes and subsided into silence, wondering if that was too tactless, since Sherlock was dead, and it seemed unfair to speak ill of him. Mycroft stopped bothering about his stomach as Greg's hormones got his attention.

"I'd rather not talk about Sherlock in this situation," Mycroft said. Greg stopped rolling around the bed like a cat and frowned at him. "I know the first heat after childbirth is rather mild, certainly not as dramatic as a reactionary heat."

"I don't remember that in all the information," Greg confessed. "And I'm sorry if that sounded tactless about Sherlock." 

Mycroft clambered onto the bed, Greg shifted to make room for him. Mycroft's nostrils flared as he took in Greg's scent. Leaning over he inhaled heavily.

"Sherlock was generally tactless, it's fitting," Mycroft said calmly, really wanting to get off the subject of his younger brother. "And no, you may not remember. However, as it is only six months since Will was born, and your body has responded to him over that time, your chances of conceiving with this heat is minimal. Your body will not want to over stress itself." 

"How considerate of it," Greg said. "You've done your research."

"Of course, quite in depth over the years," Mycroft sniffed Greg's navel, moving lower. Greg raised his head. 

"Really?" 

Mycroft lifted his head. "Of course. I'm an alpha, I've always been aware of the responsibility of continuing the breeding line, I made the effort to ensure I would be able to properly care for an omega." 

Greg shifted to allow Mycroft to sniff up his far side, and he shivered as Mycroft gave a growl. His hands manoeuvred Greg onto his back and he shifted the bedding around to keep him contained. Greg jerked as one of Mycroft's hands grazed over his nipple. 

"Are they still sensitive?" 

"I'm not feeding Will, but yes, a little." 

Mycroft nodded, and his hand drifted away having sensed that such contact was not welcome. Instead he ran his hand over Greg's hip, and down to his backside. Greg groaned and writhed not entirely sure where he wanted Mycroft to touch. His skin had started to tingle and the warmth in his navel had increased, swamping the rest of his body. Certain areas felt horribly sensitive, some he wanted touched, some he didn't and others he didn't feel entirely sure of. Mycroft, as always, started on safe ground, he started on Greg's jaw, running his tongue down Greg's neck. It occurred to him then that they hadn't actually, ever, kissed; throughout the time they had been under the same roof, in a contract which was over a year in, their lips had never connected. Mycroft wasn't sure if he would be accepted or rejected now. It seemed like a normal thing to do at this moment, but all things considered, it might not be normal for them. 

He tested the theory by licking and nipping along Greg's jaw, which he didn't reject, and his head lowered, in a hint of where he wanted Mycroft to go next. Greg's hips jerked as another wave of warmth ran out from his navel and Mycroft wasn't sure if it was deliberate or not that in response Greg's shoulders lifted from the bed, and their lips connected. It was not elegant, Greg brushed against him, the touch light, catching the left side of his mouth, but Mycroft took it as a good sign. As Greg dropped he followed him, and then flinched as his right nipple brushed against Mycroft's torso. 

"You are still sensitive?" 

"Not unpleasantly," Greg said. "It felt weird, but kind of nice in a way."

"I have heard that cows fine it very relaxing." 

Greg started to giggle. 

"I never heard that! I'm glad that I now know. It's information that will..."

Greg dissolved into further giggles. 

"This is one of those moments that apparently I am so funny that you cannot function for laughing." 

Greg giggled, wrapping his legs and arms around Mycroft. 

"However, such a scenario is not un-enticing." 

"I'm enticing?" Mycroft asked. "Un-enticing is probably not an actual word."

"You're flirting again." 

"Yes?" 

"You've got sort of good at it." 

"That's fine then." 

Greg had spread his legs, his head dulling his senses and he didn't care how Mycroft got into him. 

"I will be careful," Mycroft assured him. 

"I don't want careful, I want to shag." 

"Fine." 

Mycroft pushed into Greg, who seemed tight, his muscles clenching as he felt the intrusion, but rather than seeming to fight him Greg's body appeared to be trying o draw him in. Mycroft wasn't surprised when Greg groaned, his body shuddering and he came, splashing them both. Mycroft gently moved inside him, drawing out the sensations for a long as possible. Greg shuddered underneath him, instinctively moving his hips in time with Mycroft's. He could feel his orgasm building and Greg shifted again. 

"It may not be wise to knot you." 

Greg's eyes flashed open, fury quite clear in them. 

"In case William wakes," Mycroft added quickly, it would be inconvenient if they were tied and the little boy needed them. Greg clearly conceded, shifting his hips downwards, clenching his muscles. Mycroft gasped, thrust hard and came. Greg gave another moan as his own body reacted and he came again. As Mycroft spurted into him Greg thrust up and met him, taking what he could without being stretched by the knot. Greg flopped back. 

"Bloody needy alphas." 

"It's your son, and by now he may sleep, but he also may wake, especially with you smelling as you do." 

"Enough, shut up and lay still!" Greg said, or rather ordered, moving Mycroft into position.

Mycroft ended up laying on his back while Greg probed his mouth around the top of Mycroft's penis, his fingers assessed the knot at the base. He released the head from his mouth and went down to lick around the base. Mycroft huffed, spreading his legs wider as he felt Greg's hands push him apart. 

Once he was positioned one of Greg's hands went to massage his knot as Greg took as much of him into his mouth as he could. He pushed down with his mouth and pushed up with his hand, milking the fluid in the knot into his mouth. Greg tensed as it hit the back of his throat and then it slid down easily. He felt his own pelvic muscles pulsate under the influence of that and Mycroft lay back in shock, biting his tongue. 

When he was thoroughly milked, lying on his back, exhausted, as part of him took in Greg's scent rousing him up, again, ready for the next round. 

"Theory is never quite reality," he mused and then jumped as teeth latched onto a sensitive part of his body. 

"I said that out loud didn't I?"


	21. The Early Stages

It wasn't ideal but Greg felt quite settled and satisfied. 

In a convenient pause Mycroft had called the housekeeper, and gave her Monday and Tuesday off, so they would have some privacy, then he had produced the most interesting box. Greg had frowned when he looked at it. The dark wood ornately carved and the hinges and catch sturdily made in metal. Like everything else in Mycroft's house, it was ornate, and classic looking. What it contained was another matter entirely. 

"It's just a few items," Mycroft had said. 

Rummaging through it Greg announced. "This is more like a miniature sex shop than 'a few items'." And he had rutted his hips against the mattress in anticipation. 

"It seems logical to be prepared." 

"Were you a boy scout?" Greg asked. Mycroft gave a shudder. 

"Goodness no. All those abominable children." 

"You were a child as well, although sometimes I can imagine you were born exactly as you are now. Your first baby grow was probably pinstriped. What happened to that?!" he asked. 

Mycroft looked at the leather strap, the buckle at the end had been twisted beyond recognition and the stitching in the leather ripped. Greg held it up to examine it and then rummaged further to find the three corresponding straps. 

"You did," Mycroft said. "I employed those to contain you in your reactionary heat, it unfortunately didn't work entirely well. You pulled yourself loose." 

"That was when I knocked you out." 

"Yes," Mycroft said. 

"And Sherlock..." 

"Acted in your best interests. You seem slightly obsessed with that fact." 

"Because I don't like it!" Greg snapped, throwing the strap away. He levered himself up onto all fours and crawled over to Mycroft. 

"He was not the last person to knot you," Mycroft said, to try and reassure an erratic looking omega in the preliminary throes of heat. That was half the problem with last time. The Reactionary Heat had come on when Greg was alone, so it had been overwhelming without the controlling influence of an alpha. 

"I don't remember," Greg said, which was understandable. "Any of it." 

"You wish to?" Mycroft asked, slightly curious as to how his performance would be perceived. If Greg had no memory of the previous time, then he had no memory of their first, and only, sexual encounter. "Although, it may have been prudent to have never mentioned Sherlock's involvement." 

"You didn't, Sherlock opened his big mouth," Greg announced petulantly. "You can't knot me, can you?" 

"This will help," Mycroft held up the plug and he activated the valve to draw air in, inflating the base to a large knot. "I had this made to mirror my exact size." 

"Because you knew that I'd want one?" 

Mycroft shrugged. "I had this made before I decided to look for a suitable omega. It seemed a wise precaution." 

Greg looked at the plug, raising his eyebrows. "And apparently an accurate one."

"The omega centre provided the information regarding a bespoke service for such toys. It seemed wise to follow their recommendations."

Greg digested that information, trying to see the logic. "I'm just imagining them taking measurements for this, is it like being fitted for one of your extremely perfect suits?" 

"That is a rather facetious question." 

Greg grinned, and it had gone on from there. As he wriggled against Mycroft now, he ground his hips and Mycroft took the hint, fiddling with the valve to deflate the knot and pull the device clear. 

"I don't need any more lube," Greg snapped as Mycroft reached for the tube. He tried to take it from him and Greg found himself pushed face down onto the bed, held by the scruff of the neck. He growled and bucked his hips to try and get free. Mycroft pressed him down harder and squeezed, dropping the tube to slap Greg's backside. He did so once, then waited, heard another growl and cracked his omega's skin another four times. 

"I'll tell you what you need," Mycroft snarled, his voice lowering. Underneath him Greg shivered, he didn't exactly relax, his shoulders stayed tensed against the restraining hand but his hips pressed down on the bed and Greg's legs spread further. Mycroft picked up the tube and used his teeth to unscrew the cap, since he didn't quite trust Gregory at that moment he held onto his neck and pushed the tube against his opening, squeezing. Greg gasped as he felt the intrusion. 

"Behave then, I don't want to hurt you." 

Greg relaxed further under that tone, that told him what Mycroft said, and what Mycroft actually wanted to do, were two entirely different things. He lifted his hips and felt Mycroft slid into him a second later. He thrust hard, hips slamming against Greg's. It shunted them both up the bed and Greg grappled for the headboard to gain some traction. There was a slight battle as Mycroft grabbed at his wrists. He didn't exactly thrust into him as they both fought for control but he rolled his hips against Greg's putting in enough of a distraction to make sure he could take hold of Greg's wrists and pin him down. As he did Greg went rigid. Mycroft stilled inside him and released his restraining hold. He felt Greg buck his hips up once and then he lay down again. 

"Don't do that," Greg said slowly, drawing his arms down slightly, as if he was trying to remove them from Mycroft's reach. 

"I apologise." 

"Get out of...!" Greg violently rolled his hips downwards and shifted in the hint that he didn't want that. Mycroft pulled away immediately, Greg turned over to look at him. Mycroft's pupils were dilated and he took low, heavy breaths to control himself. Greg could see the instinct in Mycroft's eyes, the one that wanted to just take him, by any means necessary. Greg thanked whatever deity happened to be about that Mycroft had supreme self control. 

"Don't hold me down. I don't like that." 

"How would you...?" Mycroft started to ask and then stopped as he was pushed onto his back. Greg ran his hands over his erection and Mycroft's eyes fluttered but he waited for what was to happen next, which happened as Greg straddled him. Mycroft raised his hands, but kept them away from Greg. 

"Should I? My aim is to keep you steady?" 

Greg, kneeling over him, glared down like a malevolent god. Mycroft felt a shiver down his spine and decided that his omega was far more interesting than any other human that had ever been put in front of him, and nothing Mycroft could think of could possibly even try to change that opinion in the future. 

Am I in love? Mycroft wondered to himself. Is that what is was, some kind of chemical reaction that his alpha instincts wanted this omega alone and...

He yelped as Greg eased himself down, seating himself onto Mycroft and shifting his hips to find the best rhythm to ride him. He clearly still wasn't happy about the lubricant as he said. 

"Hopefully by tomorrow I'll be a bit slicker." 

"The build up of a return heat is slower. The only other one I have really experienced of yours was your reactionary heat. Likes and dislikes didn't really come into that equation." 

Greg nodded, the tension in him easing as he rocked his hips, and he could read the indirect apology in the wording. Mycroft analyzed the sensations as they happened. He was no virgin, but his education in sex had been clinical, as he had been shown by an older omega what to do, how to control himself and how best to control the omega he was with. That part of it had gone out of the window with Greg, he was old enough to have developed self-control, or at least so Mycroft had thought. 

He pushed his hips up, trying to get himself deeper into Greg. The omega smirked and carried on rutting him, taking control ensuring that Mycroft stayed where he was. Mycroft exerted that level of self-control, allowing Greg to dictate the speed and depth of what he was doing. And Greg appeared to know exactly what he was doing, moving slightly to alter the angle of his hips and make it more pleasurable, as his breathing deepened, and his focus narrowed to that one movement. It wasn't quite as Mycroft would have liked it, or had known before, but this was, for the moment, not about him. Clearly Greg sensed that, as he moved again. Mycroft moved his hands to Greg's hips, hoping to keep him steady. Greg tensed again, just slightly, and then realising that he was not about to be restricted in anyway, speeded up for the next few thrusts and then spurted across Mycroft's stomach, he kept moving through it until Mycroft, quite intrigued by the whole thing, followed suit.


	22. The Later Stages

The Later Stages

Greg felt aware of Mycroft's eyes on him as he gave Will his bottle. He could see the possessive gleam in his alpha's eyes. Mycroft had considerately done all the running around when Will had woken; gathering the baby from the nursery, then fetching a warmed bottle, while Greg had remained in the bed, the plug firmly seated inside him. 

While Mycroft had been absent Greg had sat with Will in his arms, sitting back against the pillows, shifting about, testing the feel of the plug and deciding that he would rather like to try the real thing. 

"Not that I am bemoaning your existence, but you're being quite inconvenient." 

Will looked up at him with wide eyes and smiled at him, drooling at the same time. That was when Greg heard Mycroft's tread on the stairs. Greg had settled Will by letting him suckle briefly, although his milk was limited the action occupied the baby, and left Greg in slight disarray, so when Mycroft came in line of sight of the door he caught a glimpse of his son suckling on his brood omega. With a child in the frame the sight should not have been erotic, but Mycroft's body responded. He took several deep breaths before he went into the room. Greg looked up and tensed, shifting Will away from his nipple. The baby had whined, at which point Mycroft had walked over to offer Greg the bottle. Greg felt as if he was trying to wade through treacle the air felt so warm as he reached to take the bottle and offer it to Will. He looked down and focused his gaze and attention on the little boy, who started to drink steadily. Mycroft backed up, sitting down on a nearby chair, his breathing steady, but heavy enough for Greg to hear. 

"I won't be long," Greg said. 

"Take your time," Mycroft said. Greg didn't look up, he could feel the intense gaze on him, which felt somewhat inappropriate since he was doing nothing more than feeding his child, but his alpha liked the scene. Greg could smell Mycroft's pheromones a mile off. He shifted slightly, keeping Will steadily suckling on the bottle, but Greg could feel the plug inside him and Mycroft's eyes on him. Will stirred restlessly, even as he drank from the bottle. Even his son could sense the atmosphere in the room. It wasn't strained, Greg noted to himself. There could have been some conflict, it wasn't unfamiliar to Greg, like all omegas he had been taught about an alpha's behaviours. They could often become jealous of their offspring during demanding times such as heats. 

Things had changed over the years. The omega centre had changed, although it would still do what it needed to do to continue the breeding lines. Some of it Greg had disliked - most of it really - which was why when given a choice he had taken Mycroft over that option. If nothing else, Mycroft would abdicate any claim he had on Greg for his son if there was any conflicting issues. 

Oddly, Greg, contemplating that, decided he didn't want that. Neither, it seemed, did Mycroft, as he stayed very still, watched the scene in front of him, and holding himself in check. Greg kept his eyes off him for a moment, keeping his focus on Will, whose eyes stared up, as he suckled on the bottle. Once he had finished Greg put the bottle on the side and rested a sleepy looking Will onto his shoulder, patting his back. Will gave a gurgle and a burp. Greg used the bib to wipe up Will's chin. 

The baby yawned, closing his eyes. Greg rocked him gently, wincing as the plug, now feeling a little large inside him, rubbed against his prostate. It had been fine before, now it felt a fraction uncomfortable. Mycroft reacted to the response immediately. 

"Shall I?" 

He didn't try to take the baby away, instead he helped Greg kneel up and he carefully deflated and removed the plug. Greg exhaled heavily as he felt it slide out. Will stirred in his arms and sitting back again Greg settled him, stroking the downy hair on the top of Will's head. The baby settled again, and Mycroft took the plug into the en-suite and dropped it into the sink. As he came back, Greg had stood up, with Will asleep in his arms. 

"I'll put him back in the nursery." 

Mycroft nodded. "I'll clear up." 

"Why?" Greg asked. 

"Because the heat is clearly subsiding," Mycroft said. Greg blinked, sniffed and assessed his own scent. It seemed a little calmer. 

"Not what my head is saying," Greg said. Unless his mild drunkenness currently controlled his behaviour. Mycroft paused and stared at Greg curiously, and sniffed again. 

"William could be settling your hormones," Mycroft concluded. 

"You're not!" 

Mycroft's face closed slightly. "I shall withdraw..." 

"You bloody won't," Greg said rocking Will as he shifted in his arms. The baby whimpered for a few seconds before settling down again. All Greg wanted to do at the current moment in time was put the baby back to the nursery, get him settled and then continue what he was doing with Mycroft. 

"Well, not in the leaving the room sense, anyway," Greg corrected. Mycroft's eyebrows lifted a fraction, and Greg could see the thoughts processing behind his eyes. 

"I'll just put Will back in the cot," Greg said. The baby in his arms yawned. 

"Very well," Mycroft said. "I will wait." 

Greg had never settled Will so swiftly. But as he put him down in the cot the baby was already drifting back to sleep. Will snuffled slightly and Greg waited a minute to ensure he stayed sleeping before heading back to the bedroom. Mycroft had tided up a little but the box remained on the linen chest at the end of the bed. As he entered the room Greg picked up the scent of hormones again.

"You're right. I don't think this is going to be as intense as the last heat." 

"Your previous heat was a reactionary one, I don't think you will ever have a repeat of that. How bad were your previous heats?" 

"Never too bad," Greg said. "I think I just got used to them." 

He noticed Mycroft's reaction, slightly raised eyebrows and a mild wrinkling of his nose, as he read between those words to the meaning underneath. He had learnt to cope alone while married to his wife, who didn't pay that much attention to his heats. Even the omega centre had made some attempt to take what he wanted into account. Mycroft handled it by simply doing exactly what Greg asked him to do.

The first thing Greg wanted was to at least be in the room with his alpha. He could feel the hormones stirring again, Mycroft gave a discreet inhale and could clearly sense the same, although he stayed where he was. 

"You don't need to be tidy about it," Greg said sitting down at the end of the bed and rummaging through the box of sex toys. "Will tends to sleep now until seven so we have a few hours peace, I gave him a fresh nappy so that won't bother him either." 

"Very well, what do you wish to do?" Mycroft said, moving closer. 

"Definitely a shag," Greg said, being deliberately crude and he grinned as rather than being offended by the crudeness Mycroft looked interested. 

"Of course." 

"Anything you want?" Greg asked. 

"Shagging is a pleasurable idea, I have often enjoyed taking someone from behind." 

"Have you really?" Greg asked. "As an alpha?" 

"Of the positions the omega tutor went through, I found it the best. She also said it was good for omegas, she herself particularly enjoyed it." 

"Was that a counselling or physical session?" Greg asked slightly petulantly. He had no right to be annoyed about it, the incident occurred during Mycroft's alpha tutoring, but the thought of another omega around him, after the annoying Lady Cressenden, got on Greg's nerves. Despite the easing of his hormones, he was still feeling possessive of his alpha, and he had every right to be. He didn't bother to wonder when he had got so territorial, the feeling was there, Mycroft seemed quite content with it, so Greg just let it happen. 

"Both," Mycroft stated. "However, your comfort is the main concern, mine are secondary." 

"No need why it can't be taken into consideration," Greg said. "This isn't a tutorial session." 

"It is in some respects," Mycroft said. "This is the first heat we are experiencing together, therefore it makes for something akin to that situation." 

Greg frowned. As much as he hated to admit it, Mycroft did have a point, and Greg still felt a little drunk, and tired and horny. He didn't know quite what to do. Mycroft assessed him for a moment before closing the lid on the box and then reaching up to organise the bedding, folding it down. 

"Get in, there will be plenty of time to deal with this." 

"My heats only lasts three days," Greg said, although he complied with Mycroft's request. As he clambered in he could smell his own scent, mingled with Mycroft's, which made it quite pleasant. Mycroft slid in next to him, tucking the duvet around them and letting Greg ease close. It reminded Mycroft of the time of Greg's miscarriage, when he hadn't wanted to be on his own, and when, without realising it, Greg exposed the vulnerability he didn't even realise he had, and something that Mycroft's alpha liked. 

Greg relaxed as Mycroft let him settle close and he felt Mycroft's hand running over him, soothing his oddly rattled nerves. He inhaled the alpha's scent and settled down as easily as William had. 

"We've still only got two more days." Greg murmured. 

There was a pause before Mycroft spoke. 

"I was thinking in longer terms than that."


	23. The Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is not timeline specific. It might come anywhere in the storyline but to fit it in the right place might make the whole thing complicated!!

"What's this?" 

"I believe it's dinner," Mycroft said, smoothing his tie, which he was still wearing despite having been home for several hours. As if he was expecting tonight's meal to be a formal affair. Greg looked at him and then down at the neatly laid kitchen table, complete with candles and napkins. 

"Right, did you cook it?" 

"Most of it. Mrs Phillips helped with the preparation; however, I chose the recipe. Mrs Phillips shopped for the ingredients and also laid the table...." 

"Alright Mycroft," Greg said, raising his hands in surrender. "I'm not interrogating you. I just wondered what brought this on. What have you done?" 

Greg almost joked, but the look on Mycroft's face told him what he was doing was far from a joke and he also wasn't entirely sure of his ground, which meant he was expecting Greg to lead him, and he wasn't. 

"I don't believe I've done anything. Is it possible to forget your own birthday?" 

Greg dropped into the chair rather more forcefully then he intended. His mouth opened, and closed, then opened again, and he paused. Then he stopped behaving like a goldfish and said. 

"Of course I haven't forgotten, I know my own birthday. I just... haven't celebrated it for a bit. You didn't have to do anything." 

"I don't believe it is particularly spectacular to offer dinner." 

There was a mild query in that tone. Greg wondered if Mycroft had acquired some information from a source other than himself. Then again, Mycroft had a limited scope of people to ask. Still, he had to have some experience of what he himself enjoyed for his own birthdays. 

"When's your birthday?" Greg suddenly asked. 

"Why does that matter?" 

"It's something I need to know. If you are going to acknowledge my birthday then it's only fair I do the same for you." 

"Very well." Although he didn't elaborate on the date. Instead he turned his attention to pouring the wine. From the look of the bottle it was probably something expensive which no doubt would taste the same as something that Greg could get in the supermarket. At least he wouldn't notice any different. He kept that information to himself, however, not wanting to start criticising the effort. Instead he picked up the glass. 

"Cheers. And thank you. It's very considerate." Greg smiled, quite genuinely please. It was nice to be thought of, even if it was simply Mycroft adhering to a convention he knew but didn't entirely understand. 

"I also bought this." 

This, was unceremoniously put down on the dining table by Greg's place mat, while Mycroft went off to start dishing up the meal. Greg pulled the pot a little closer, turning it to examine the small cactus planted in the middle. It was quite sweet really. A throwaway line that Greg has spoken months ago had been remembered. What Greg had said once about his lost cactus Mycroft had clearly not forgotten, and now acted on it to give one as a present. 

"Thank you," Greg said, quite touched, and slightly confused. He watched Mycroft start to put bowls on the table.

"This looks nice," Greg said looking at the bowl of new potatoes, which steamed slightly, butter melting over them, and they had been very carefully sprinkled with parsley. It seemed overly done for a meal at home, but a celebration clearly necessitated the excess of parsley on the potatoes. A bowl of red cabbage followed. 

They were things that Greg liked, and Mycroft could only have known if he had found someone to ask. It lingered on the tip of his tongue to ask who had been questioned, but then he didn't. Doing so would have been a little bit rude, when the effort was clear enough. Greg looked down at the tuna steak that was put in front of him, cooked exactly how he liked it. 

"Thank you," Greg said, startled, and quite touched by the fact that Mycroft had bothered. It was such an early, delicate, stage in their relationship that it could have seemed forced. But it wasn't. Mycroft had done it, because it was something that normal people did, and he seemed to think that he needed to behave like a normal person in front of Greg. Greg reached for the cabbage and dished some onto his plate, next to the steak. 

"This is very nice," he added a few minutes later as they started eating. "You're not going to sing happy birthday are you?" 

Mycroft frowned. "I was not intending to." 

"Good. It's not required." 

"Surely that is more acceptable when there is a group of people, and a cake." 

"It is. We don't have cake?"

"It didn't seem appropriate with the meal. Mrs Phillips made a concoction with yogurt and fruit. She advised me to take it out of the freezer at an appropriate moment before we eat it." 

"What sort of appropriate moment?" 

"Half an hour before, at least, maybe I should..." 

"Leave it, we can have coffee after and fight dessert later," Greg said, a suggestion that Mycroft obeyed. Greg wasn't that bothered about dessert. 

"If we do so, we should not forget otherwise we will be eating a yogurt and fruit mush." 

"Okay," Greg said, sipping his wine. "So, how was your day?" 

Mycroft blinked at the question. Greg could see him processing it behind his eyes, not because he was calculating what he could and couldn't say, but because he realised it was a normal question and he needed to answer it in the most appropriate fashion. 

"Very well," Mycroft said. 

"And you can't tell me any more than that," Greg teased. 

"No, besides it's not that interesting." 

"You probably only do the mysterious act to wind Sherlock up, he hates not knowing." 

"Indeed. And your day?" 

"Probably just as uninteresting, unless you want to hear about the enormous volume of paperwork I processed, and one alpha I charmed."

"Really?" Mycroft said lifting his eyebrows. Greg smirked. 

"They pulled Mac in on some driving charge, he's a complete pain most of the time, except with me. Suffice to say the police don't often deal with the Full-Blooded." 

"I would hope not," Mycroft said, smoothing his tie and feeling offended for alphas everywhere. Greg smirked to himself.

"However, when they do, I seem to be the go to person." 

"Well, that is perfectly understandable, you know the roles required inside out." 

"Yes, I suppose," Greg said, wondering when, and how, he had somehow turned into a well behaved omega. Mycroft frowned as he watched the flickering emotions pass over Greg's face. As he noticed the frown Greg straightened his face out. 

"This is nice," Greg said eating some of the tuna steak.

"I took advice on what you liked," Mycroft said. 

"Who? Because if you had talked to Sherlock then..."

"No, he wouldn't answer my calls anyway. I asked your colleagues, and compared it with the answers on the profile you loaded on the omega centre data base." 

"That was half sarcasm." 

"Yes, I took that into account." 

Greg smiled as he looked at Mycroft. Then he giggled. 

"Sorry," he said, taking a swallow of wine. But he didn't elaborate on the giggle. It would, he thought, sound stupid, if he told Mycroft how happy such a simple thing as this made him. 

"I never did get to see your questionnaire," Greg said. "If you actually filled one in." 

"I did not, I have a certain authority." 

"Being the British Government," Greg said. 

"Of a fashion. Sherlock is annoyingly over simplistic in his explanations when he really ought not to be." 

Greg shrugged. 

"After dinner," he said. Mycroft looked at him curiously, not eager, nor apprehensive, merely waiting for the information. Greg pouted considered and then said. 

"I would like to have sex." 

"Many omegas do on their birthday." 

Greg liked the cactus enough not to throw it at Mycroft's head.


End file.
